alled the Rangoon River. What seemed like low green
banks are really swamps filled with rushes growing high and strong; as
we passed between them suddenly we saw afar off a gleam of gold, and by
staring hard we made out a great tower against the sky. We are going to
visit it presently, but just now I want you to see something else quite
funny. Step softly on the broad wooden verandah and peep round that
corner.

There squats an old man with a perfectly bald head, smooth as a billiard
ball; he wears a loose garment of dull yellow stuff which forms a sort
of skirt and is draped across one shoulder as well, falling over his
honey-coloured chest. He is all yellow, except for his round, shining
black eyes, very like glistening balls of jet. On the ground in front of
him, lying full length on their little stomachs, are about a dozen small
boys. You thought they were girls? I don't wonder! Each one has a
feathery tuft of hair in the middle of his head standing up like carrot
tops, except for this the little skull is closely shaven all round. They
all have skimpy white jackets and skirts from which their skinny little
yellow legs stick out kicking in the effort to master their tasks. In a
loud sing-song jabber they are repeating something which they read off
the slates they hold in front of them. It would be funny to learn
lessons lying flat on the floor, wouldn't it? But these boys have never
sat on chairs in their lives; they will have to learn that as an
accomplishment if they go into business offices when they are older.

The old _poongyi_, or monk, is the teacher. This beautiful carved wooden
building is the house where the monks live, and it is called a _choung_.
In the morning, very early, the monks wander forth, dressed in yellow
robes and carrying begging-bowls and fans. They do not beg, however,
they are much too proud; they merely stop and stand about where there
are houses, and the people rush to pour food into their bowls. It is a
privilege for them to be allowed to do this, as they are supposed to
"gain merit" by so doing. Nearly all the Burmese are Buddhists, and
these men are Buddhist monks.

[Illustration: A POONGYI, OR MONK.]

You would never guess what the fans are for; they are to put up as
screens to shield the faces of the monks when they pass a woman, for
they are not supposed ever to look at a woman, it is too frivolous! When
the begging-bowls are full they generally contain a strange mixture, for
ev