nd addressing the Elephant,
said:--

'You, on account of your size and trunk, were able to reach the prize on
the wall but, having lost it, you were unable to recover it. And you,'
said the Lion, turning to the Crocodile, 'although unable to reach the
helmet, were able to dive for it and save it. You are both wise and
clever in your respective ways. Neither is better than the other.'

MORAL: Every one has his special use in the world.

H. BERKELEY SCORE.

McLEOD OF CLERE.

(_Continued from page 68._)

There was much excitement in the Tounghi huts when the story was told,
and Maung Yet's wife took possession of the 'Bebe Ingalay.' Much talking
and gesticulation, too, among the mothers of the tribe over the white
skin of the little stranger. Frail and weak, he seemed at first inclined
to slip away from his adventurous life, but Mah Soh had a big motherly
heart under her dark skin, and loved Bebe with a great love, and tended
him with all the care she knew.

Thus, in spite of strange food and surroundings, the little one throve.
His dark eyes took in the brightness of sunshine and moonrays, he slept
on his red sleeping-mat under the shade of gorgeous blossoms, waking to
the sound of water and the scream of red and green parrakeets, and his
tiny hands were raised, with coos of excitement, to catch these
bright-hued creatures flitting from branch to branch above him. There he
heard the cries of the boys as they goaded the lazy oxen to pull the
clumsy carts faster as they came laden from the steaming paddy fields.
Bebe learned to love even the pye-dogs which congregated under the huts,
and would let him touch them. He loved Mah Soh the best, of course, but
almost as much his own white dog, who guarded Bebe jealously, and gave
alarm if any evil threatened him. Bebe soon learnt to twist his tiny
fingers in the dog's metal collar to keep him near.

When the rice was all gathered, the paddy boats were laden and shipped
down the river to the market at Rangoon. Then quieter days began, and
Mah Soh, dressed in her best on gala days, would stand at the hut door
and chat to the neighbours in their curious musical language.

'How could the Bebe Ingalay have got into the jungle?' 'It was the woman
who had died who had brought him there.' 'Did she not call herself Mah
Kloo, and had not Maung thought she was a Karen woman?' 'Yes, that was
so, but Bebe could not have been her child; had she not said he was
Ingalay?' 'It