m and the other. But there are graibeestes of all
sorts and shapes.

[Illustration: 'If your camel's not quite fresh I can mount you
both.']

You know when people are making the animals for Noah's arks they make
the big ones first, elephants and lions and tigers and so on, and paint
them as nearly as they can the right colours. Then they get weary of
copying nature and begin to paint the animals pink and green and
chocolate colour, which in nature is not the case. These are the
chockmunks, and vertoblancs and the pinkuggers. And presently the makers
get sick of the whole business and make the animals any sort of shape
and paint them all one grey--these are the graibeestes. And at the very
end a guilty feeling of having been slackers comes over the makers of
the Noah's arks, and they paint blue spots on the last and littlest of
the graibeestes to ease their consciences. This is the blugraiwee.

'Tally Ho! Hark forrad! Yoicks!' were some of the observations now to be
heard on every side as the hunt swept on, the blugraiwee well ahead.
Dogs yapped, animals galloped, riders shouted, the sun shone, the sea
sparkled, and far ahead the blugraiwee ran, extended to his full length
like a grey straight line. He was killed five miles from the castle
after a splendid run. And when a pinkugger had been secured and half a
dozen graibeeste, the hunt rode slowly home.

'We only hunt to kill and we only kill for food,' the Lord High Islander
said.

'But,' said Philip, 'I thought Noah's ark animals turned into wood when
they were dead?'

'Not if you kill for food. The intention makes all the difference. I had
a plum-cake intention when we put up the blugraiwee, the pinkugger I
made a bread and butter intention about, and the graibeestes I intended
for rice pudding and prunes and toffee and ices and all sorts of odd
things. So, of course, when we come to cut them up they'll _be_ what I
intended.'

'I see,' said Philip, jogging along on his camel. 'I say,' he added,
'you don't mind my asking--how is it you're all children here?'

'Well,' said the Lord High Islander, 'it's ancient history, so I don't
suppose it's true. But they say that when the government had to make
sure that we should always be _happy_ troops of gentle islanders, they
decided that the only way was for us to be children. And we do have the
most ripping time. And we do our own hunting and cooking and wash up our
own plates and things, and for heavy work we have t