she whispered as they went down the passage.

'The birds in the box told me,' answered he, but he could say no more,
as they stepped out into the open space that was crowded with people.
There the princes stopped.

'O kings!' she said, turning towards them, 'if one of you were killed
to-day, the rest would fly; but this man put his trust in me, and had
his head cut off three times. Because he has done this, I will marry him
rather than one of you, who have come hither to wed me, for many kings
here sought to free me from the spells, but none could do it save Ian
the fisher's son.'

From 'Popular Tales of the West Highlands.'

A Fish Story

Perhaps you think that fishes were always fishes, and never lived
anywhere except in the water, but if you went to Australia and talked to
the black people in the sandy desert in the centre of the country, you
would learn something quite different. They would tell you that long,
long ago you would have met fishes on the land, wandering from place to
place, and hunting all sorts of animals, and if you consider how fishes
are made, you will understand how difficult this must have been and how
clever they were to do it. Indeed, so clever were they that they might
have been hunting still if a terrible thing had not happened.

One day the whole fish tribe came back very tired from a hunting
expedition, and looked about for a nice, cool spot in which to pitch
their camp. It was very hot, and they thought that they could not find
a more comfortable place than under the branches of a large tree which
grew by the bank of a river. So they made their fire to cook some food,
right on the edge of a steep bank, which had a deep pool of water lying
beneath it at the bottom. While the food was cooking they all stretched
themselves lazily out under the tree, and were just dropping off to
sleep when a big black cloud which they had never noticed spread over
the sun, and heavy drops of rain began to fall, so that the fire was
almost put out, and that, you know, is a very serious thing in savage
countries where they have no matches, for it is very hard to light it
again. To make matters worse, an icy wind began to blow, and the poor
fishes were chilled right through their bodies.

'This will never do,' said Thuggai, the oldest of the fish tribe. 'We
shall die of cold unless we can light the fire again,' and he bade his
sons rub two sticks together in the hope of kindling a flame, but thoug