and told
him all about her French doll and her new brown boots--also from Paris.

The dinner, which was announced directly after the return of Mrs.
Salter, proved to be excellent, well cooked and a novelty. For the
first time Shafto tasted real curry, also mango fool. The appointments
were exclusively European, with the exception of a massive silver bowl,
filled with purple orchids, which adorned the centre of the table. Two
snowy-clad Madras servants waited with silent dexterity and
conversation never flagged. Salter discoursed of chummeries and the
_Blankshire_ passengers, and Mrs. Salter thoughtfully prepared the new
arrival for the alarming insects of Lower Burma, whilst Rosetta, for
her part, kept up an accompaniment on a high chirruping note.

During a momentary pause Shafto was startled by an odd sound--an
imperious, unnatural voice that called, "Tucktoo! Tucktoo! Tucktoo!"

"What is it--or _who_ is it?" he inquired anxiously.

"Oh, it's only a large lizard that lives under the eaves," explained
Salter, "one of our specialities. In the rains, when he is in good
voice, he is deafening."

"He brings good and bad luck," added Mrs. Salter. "Oh, yes, that is
so," and she flipped the air with her two first fingers, a favourite
gesture among Burmese women.

"How do you mean luck?" Shafto asked.

"If he gives seven 'Tucktoos' without stopping, that is luck--great big
luck--but if he goes on, he brings trouble."

"Only if he stops at an odd number," corrected the child.

"I see you know all about it," remarked the guest.

"Oh, yes, our Tucktoo never goes beyond seven--I think he is old--and
mother says the _nats_ are kind to us."

"The cats are kind to you!" ejaculated Shafto. "But why not?"

"No, no," hastily broke in Salter, "nats are spirits, good spirits or
bad, who live in the trees; you will hear enough about them before you
are a month in Burma. Their worship is the national faith."

"But I thought Buddhism----" began Shafto, and hesitated.

"Oh, yes, ostensibly and ostentatiously, but wait and see."

"I am a Catholic," announced the child abruptly.

She was excessively self-conscious and anxious to show off before
Shafto.

"Are you really?" he said with an incredulous smile.

"Oh, yes, I attend the convent school; I am learning French and
dancing, I go to mass; mother goes to the pagoda festivals--mother is a
heathen."

"Rosetta! Mind what you are saying," sharply interposed Salt