ettes against the sunset Their tails,
which seemed to be about three feet long, and were curled at the ends,
hung below the dead branches. One big fellow had perched himself on the
tiptop of the tree, and in the dim light he looked like a human sentinel
as his black outline appeared against the evening light.

Then came Missionary Worthington's story about Kin Thung, the boy who,
with characteristic Oriental spirit, had quick murder in his heart:

"It was while I was the head of the Boys' School down in Batavia, Java,
that it happened. One has experiences out here in dealing with youth
that he does not get at home, for it is inflammable material, explosive
to the highest degree."

I waited for his story to continue as the Dutch ship glided swiftly down
the river toward the South China Sea, and night settled over us as we
sat there on the upper deck, watching the crimson glory change into
sudden purple.

"I heard a noise and I knew there was a fight on in the dormitory. I had
seen the aftermath of such Malay and Chinese feuds in our schools
before, and I knew that it was no trivial matter, as it often is with
boy fights at home, so I hurried up.

"When I got there I saw Kin Thung wiping his knife, and the boy he had
been fighting lying on the floor, bleeding from a long wound."

"What had happened?"

"Kin Thung was a quick-tempered boy. In addition to that, he was of a
sullen make-up, with, what I call, a criminal tendency in him. That,
added to his already volatile spirit, made him a real problem in the
school. For instance, he was the kind of a boy who, if a teacher called
on him without warning to recite, he would get uncontrollably angry,
turn sullen and refuse to answer."

"Why didn't you fire him?" I said.

"That would have been the easy thing to do. I preferred to win him
rather than to fire him!"

I felt ashamed of myself for my suggestion, and looked out into the
night skies where the beautiful form of the southern cross loomed in the
zenith.

"No, I didn't fire him."

"What did you do?"

"As I was dressing the boy's wound Kin Thung stood looking on, utterly
expressionless and unrepentant, even sullen.

"I didn't say anything to Kin that night, save to ask him to come to the
office the next day.

"The other boys were calling out to him as he entered, and I could hear
them through the window, 'I wonder how many strokes of the rattan he
will get?' for that is one of our forms of punishment.