a baker's boy on the road with a basket of rolls. I gobbled up
every one, and so partly satisfied my hunger.

The boy was dreadfully scared. Had I not been so busy with my breakfast,
I should have been quite anxious about him. For a few seconds he stood
open-mouthed with fear; then he flew like the wind. What for, I did not
know, for I had no intention of doing him any harm. All I wanted was his
rolls.

Of course, after having appeased my hunger, I ought to have made my way
back to the woods again. I realise this now.

But I saw, not far off, a greengrocer's shop, and the things there
displayed were enough to tempt any one's appetite, I simply could not
resist them. I broke the window, and upset the fruit over the pavement.
What a feast I had to be sure! The people in the shop were afraid to
interrupt me, so I had it all to myself. Two basketsful I demolished,
and was prepared to attack a third, when suddenly, to my horror, I was
caught.

My keeper, with two or three other men, who were helping in the search,
happened to see me in the middle of my feast, and then--well, here I am,
again in captivity.

I said I liked fruit. Yes, but that is a thing of the past, now.

I have pretty well settled down again to my life as 'The Children's
Delight,' and 'The Elephant Extraordinary,' although at times I still
yearn for the freedom of the forest. But this one lesson I have
learnt--that if you cannot get the things you want, the wisest plan is
to make the very best of the things you have.

THINK THIS OUT

An Arabian proverb, which contains a lot of meaning very closely packed,
runs as follows: 'Who knows not, and knows not that he knows not, is
foolish; shun him. Who knows not, and knows that he knows not, is
humble; teach him. Who knows, but knows not that he knows, is asleep;
wake him. Who knows, and knows that he knows, is wise: follow him.'

THE GIANT OF THE TREASURE CAVES.

(_Continued from page 215._)

CHAPTER XII.

La Mere Bricolin had a thin, brown, deeply lined face, but she herself
was stout, and did credit to M. le Cure's table. Her coarse blue serge
dress, white apron, and snowy, close-fitting cap, gave her a well-to-do
appearance. Indeed, as housekeeper to M. le Cure, she was far better off
than in the days when her husband earned a scanty livelihood as a
fisherman in one of the smaller smacks of the cod-fishing fleet. Like so
many other widows of the little village, she had lost him i