brilliant turbans and silk
waist cloths, or the women in satin skirts of endless pattern, their
chignons wreathed with flowers, wearing a profusion of gold ornaments,
and attended by many children.

"Ah, I see you are struck with the spectacle!" said Salter. "Isn't it
an orgy of colour--rose, orange, purple, scarlet? There is nothing
more picturesque than a Burmese crowd."

"Yes, a great show!" rejoined Shafto; "in gala costume. I can now
understand why the national emblem is a peacock."

As they made their way through the throng there was a clanging of
melodious gongs and sounds of loud continuous chanting, whilst overhead
the far-away sea breeze stirred the bells on the Ti to a silvery
tinkle, tinkle.

To Shafto this scene was amazing and impressive; the wonderful golden
Pagoda with its crown of jewels, the vast multitudes in many-hued
garments, the flowers, fluttering flags, coloured lights, all as it
were attuned to the accompaniment of merry voices, sonorous Gregorian
chanting, and deep-toned gongs.

And what a labyrinth of shrines! Hours might be spent examining their
rich carvings. At one of the principal of these shrines a service was
proceeding; to Shafto, it recalled the celebration of mass in a Roman
Catholic chapel, for here were shaven priests intoning prayers on the
steps of a decorated altar; here also were incense, lights, and a
multitude of devout people, kneeling, rosary in hand, chanting the
responses.

Among the worshippers Shafto recognised Mee Lay and her cousin Ma Chit,
attired in what, no doubt, were their festival toilets. Mee Lay's
white jacket was fastened by diamond buttons, and large diamonds
sparkled in her little brown ears; as for Ma Chit, she was adorned with
the national gold necklace, or _dalizan_. In her sleek, black hair
were artfully arranged sprigs of scarlet hibiscus, and between her tiny
hands, glittering with rings, and uplifted palm to palm, she held a
beautiful flower, which, when her devotions were accomplished, she laid
upon the shrine with an undulating movement of adoration and grace.

"You see my wife follows her own religion," remarked Salter, "and I
make no objection. I was brought up as a Baptist, in the very
strictest sense of the word. Rosetta, as you already know, is a Roman
Catholic; sometimes Mee Lay brings her here; the service and the
spectacle are attractive enough, though never so to me. My
Nonconformist blood leaves me cold to this sort of