McLEOD OF CLERE.
[(Continued from page 79.)]
'Hullo, new kid, what's your name?'
'Paul Fife,' said the newcomer, who had just been left by Dr. Rayne in the school playground, where boys of all sorts and sizes, from ten to fourteen, were congregated, newly arrived from home and holidays, and while they waited for the tea-bell, were inspecting the 'new boys.'
'Oh, "Paul," what a jolly name. "Paul Pry," "Poll parrot," "Polly put the kettle on." Well, Polly, and where do you come from?'
'Let him alone, Briggs,' said the school captain (a pleasant-faced, tall boy). 'Dr. Rayne asked me to look after him a bit. I say, though, young 'un, call yourself "Fife," that's quite enough; we don't have Christian names here, you know.'
'Well, Christy, you needn't punch my head, I don't want to harm the infant,' cried Briggs. 'He can tell me where he comes from, anyhow—can't you, new kid?'
'I lived at Fort Caidman, in the Shan States—Burmah, you know.'
'And what can you do, play football and cricket?'
'No, I have not really played them, but I want to. There were no white boys besides me, but I can shoot, and ride, and row, and fence, and throw darts.'
A group of boys had gathered round—little Paul tried not to feel shy.