A Fable.

An Elephant and a Crocodile were once standing beside a river. They were disputing as to which was the better animal.

'Look at my strength,' said the Elephant. 'I can tear up a tree, roots and all, with my trunk.'

'Ah! but quantity is not quality, and your skin is not nearly so tough as mine,' replied the Crocodile, 'for neither spear, arrow, nor sword can pierce it.'

Just as they were coming to blows, a Lion happened to pass.

'Heyday, sirs!' said His Majesty, going up to them, 'let me know the cause of your quarrel.'

'Will you kindly tell us which is the better animal?' cried both at once.

'Certainly,' said the Lion. 'Do you see that soldier's steel helmet on yonder wall?' pointing at the same time across the river.

'Yes!' replied the beasts.

'Well, then,' continued the Lion, 'go and fetch it, and bring it to me, and I shall be able then to decide between you.'

Upon hearing this, off they started. The Crocodile, being used to the water, reached the opposite bank of the river first, and was not long in standing beside the wall.

Here he waited till the Elephant came up. The latter, seeing at a glance how matters stood, extended his long trunk, and reached the helmet quite easily.

They then made their way together back again across the river. The Elephant, anxious to keep up with the Crocodile in the water, forgot that he was carrying the helmet on his back, and a sudden lurch caused the prize to slip off and sink to the bottom. The Crocodile noticed the accident, so down he dived, and brought it up in his capacious mouth. They then returned, and the Crocodile laid the helmet at the Lion's feet. His Majesty took up the helmet, and 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 'Bébé 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 Bébé 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. Bébé 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 Bébé jealously, and gave alarm if any evil threatened him. Bébé 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 Bébé 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 Bébé could not have been her child; had she not said he was Ingalay?' 'It must have been sad for a "Mem" or a "Thakin Ingalay" to lose him.'

Ah, it was hard to understand, and there was the queer charm the woman had, but it and Bébé had brought good fortune—never had Maung Yet gathered in a better harvest. And the little subject of all this talk, dressed like a Burmese baby in Mah Soh's arms, heard all, and understood nothing, not knowing how all-important it was to him.

The rainy season was unusually severe that year, and came all too soon; then fever broke out in the jungle villages—it came to Maung Yet's house, and Mah Soh was one of the first to die. Bébé cried, and when no one knew, he crawled to her. They took him away when they found him there; he lay hot and restless on his sleeping-mat, for he too had taken the fever. Maung Yet was a sad man that day, and he and his fellows talked much of the trouble. They said the evil spirits must be angry, and some dread thing would happen if the white baby died. Had they not tied round its neck the metal charm, and it had worked no cure yet? Then one told of a camp of white men, Thakins (captains) and native soldiers, who had raised many tents and huts by the big lake: would it not be wise to take Bébé to them?

Maung Yet resolved to do so; they would start at moonrise. Wrapped in cloth and skins tenderly by the women, Bébé was placed in the tappa (a Burmese basket of creel-shape), and slung over Maung's shoulder. They paced rapidly through the night, he and his fellows, until at sunrise they saw the shining of Lake Ownwi, and later the sentries and huts of a camp, and knew that their wandering was nearly ended.