d roused the flickering life of the dying
woman for an instant; with a last movement she lightly touched the wee
dark head, smiled faintly, and died.

[Illustration: "Maung and his young companion came to what they sought
at last."]

A shallow grave was hastily dug. A pouch in the tattered garments
contained a few coins of money and a curious small gold cross. Maung Yet
touched his tattoo anxiously as he took the latter: it must be, he
thought, some strange charm. Then he placed the coins in the mouth of
the dead woman, in the belief that this provided ferry-hire over the
death river, and he and Lan Wee lifted the woman into the grave. Then,
with all speed, the two Burmen left the hated jungle, carrying the tiny
infant, the lean dog following closely.

(_Continued on page 78._)

[Illustration: "She looked a little suspiciously at my muddy legs."]

THE BOY TRAMP.

(_Continued from page 61._)

The cyclist was a good-looking, short, but well-built man, clad in a
light, home-spun suit, with knickerbockers and a Panama hat. On the
frame of his bicycle was an ordinary mackintosh haversack, and, strapped
behind the saddle, a paint-box, a folding sketching-stool, and a
good-sized sketching-block. Fixing the pump, he knelt down to inflate
the tyre; but the pump was rather small, the sun was hot (as I felt,
having no hat), and the man seemed soon to weary of his job. He had
glanced once or twice in my direction, and now he rose, blew out his
cheeks, and cried: "Hi, boy! do you want to earn a copper?"

'Rather!' I answered, thinking of breakfast.

'Just pump up this tyre for me, then,' he said; and, going down on my
knees by the roadside, I began to pump with a will, while he took out a
pipe and began to fill it. 'Think that's all right?' he asked, as I rose
to my feet.

'It feels pretty hard,' I answered.

'Well, here's twopence for you,' he cried.

'Thanks, awfully,' I said, putting out my hand.

Holding his machine, on the point of wheeling it into the middle of the
road, he paused, staring into my face.

'Where are you bound for?' he inquired.

'London,' I replied. 'Can you tell me which is the road?'

He stared again for what seemed a long time, and it was evident that I
caused him a little perplexity.

'Of course,' he muttered, half to himself; 'it must be the holidays just
now.'

'They began last month,' I answered.

'Yet I am sure you are running away,' he cried.

Somewhat alarmed, in con