er; "your
mother's no more a heathen than yourself."

"Rosetta is a nasty little girl," said Mrs. Salter, rising, "she
forgets herself before company, and must go away to be----"

A succession of shrieks interrupted the verdict.

"Oh, do forgive her, please!" implored Shafto; "I ask it as a favour, a
special favour."

Meanwhile Rosetta clung to her mother apostrophising her in an unknown
tongue, then with piercing screams, entirely regardless of her
beautiful clean frock, she flung herself flat upon the floor.

If Shafto had been inclined to meditation, he might have reflected on
the future of the offspring of two such divergent countries as the West
Riding of Yorkshire and Pegu. At one moment the prim, well-mannered
English girl; the next, an impulsive, emotional daughter of the Far
East. When she grew to woman's estate, which of the races would
predominate?

Meanwhile, as Rosetta lay prone and kicking upon the _dhurri_, her
father murmured apologetically:

"When the lassie is a bit over-fired and excited, she doesn't know what
she is saying."

Mee Lay raised her struggling offspring, was about to bear her away and
give her "Tap Tap," when again Shafto interposed:

"Oh, I say, do forgive her this time, please, Mrs. Salter. This is my
first day in Rangoon--and I ask it as a particular favour."

Mee Lay, an adoring parent, was by no means reluctant to grant his
petition, and when the tearful culprit was released and set down, she
turned to Shafto and said in her piping treble:

"Thank you, nice gentleman, but she would not have hurt me much. It
was not I who said mother was a heathen savage, but Ethel Lucas, and I
slapped her, so I did--and Sister gave me a bad mark. I, too, go to
the pagoda festivals and like them awfully much. There are bells and
beads, and flowers and priests, the same as in the convent."

"Now that peace has been declared, Rosetta, here is a chocolate," said
her father, "and you can go to bed. Shafto, we will adjourn into the
veranda to smoke, watch the rising moon, and listen to the hum of the
bazaar--a new sound for your ears!"

In a few minutes both were extended in comfortable, long cane chairs,
no doubt experiencing an agreeable sense of _bien etre_. The outlook,
with its heavy foliage, was restful to the eye, and the air was charged
with a spicy warmth.

Presently Salter began: "On Monday you are due at the office to report
yourself. You need not be scared at the Head