is it, Aboo Din?" the mistress would inquire, as visions of
Baboo drowned in the great Shanghai jar, or of Baboo lying crushed
by a boa among the yellow bamboos beyond the hedge, passed swiftly
through her mind.

"Mem see Baboo?" came the inevitable question.

It was unnecessary to say more. At once Ah Minga, the "boy"; Zim, the
cook; the kebuns (gardeners); the tukanayer (water-boy), and even the
sleek Hindu dirzee, who sat sewing, dozing, and chewing betel-nut,
on the shady side of the veranda, turned out with one accord and
commenced a systematic search for the missing Baboo.

Sometimes he was no farther off than the protecting screen of the
"compound" hedge, or the cool, green shadows beneath the bungalow. But
oftener the government Sikhs had to be appealed to, and Kampong Glam
in Singapore searched from the great market to the courtyards of
Sultan Ali. It was useless to whip him, for whippings seemed only
to make Baboo grow. He would lisp serenely as Aboo Din took down
the rattan withe from above the door, "Baboo baniak jahat!" (Baboo
very bad!) and there was something so charmingly impersonal in all
his mischief, that we came between his own brown body and the rod,
time and again. There was nothing distinctive in Baboo's features or
form. To the casual observer he might have been any one of a half-dozen
of his playmates. Like them, he went about perfectly naked, his soft,
brown skin shining like polished rosewood in the fierce Malayan sun.

His hair was black, straight, and short, and his eyes as black as
coals. Like his companions, he stood as straight as an arrow, and
could carry a pail of water on his head without spilling a drop.

He, too, ate rice three times a day. It puffed him up like a little
old man, which added to his grotesqueness and gave him a certain
air of dignity that went well with his features when they were in
repose. Around his waist he wore a silver chain with a silver heart
suspended from it. Its purpose was to keep off the evil spirits.

There was always an atmosphere of sandalwood and Arab essence about
Baboo that reminded me of the holds of the old sailing-ships that used
to come into Boston harbor from the Indies. I think his mother must
have rubbed the perfumes into his hair as the one way of declaring to
the world her affection for him. She could not give him clothes, or
ornaments, or toys: such was not the fashion of Baboo's race. Neither
was he old enough to wear the silk saron