ould like a few words with you first. Paul could perhaps----'

'I will give him into my daughter's hands. New boys are her special
function. Come with me,' and a kind arm was passed round the boy's
shoulders.

'Shall I see you again?' The child's big, dark eyes were turned
wistfully to Captain Ferrers.

'Oh, yes, dear boy, and you can show your dog to Miss Rayne; it is
waiting outside.'

'Now for our chat,' said Dr. Rayne, returning. 'I want to hear all you
can tell me about this child. He is a fine boy truly.'

'And a fine character, too, proud and passionate, but affectionate and
honourable to a degree; among natives he has often helped me by his
fearless truth and sense of right. It is more than nine years since he
came to me. I was at the time newly arrived at Fort Caidman, one of the
stations in the Shan Highlands on the China-Burmese frontier. As you
know, my men are all Sikhs and Pathans, and only I and my
fellow-officers were British. One morning early, my man came to me
saying that some natives wished to speak to me. I went directly. I
found they were Tounghis, a friendly people a long way from my station.
The spokesman carried a tappa (a native carrying-basket) over his back,
and in it, wrapped in a blanket, a child apparently about a year old,
dying, as far as I could see. It was brown with exposure, and its cheeks
and eyes bright with fever. I took it for a native infant, but the man
assured me by an interpreter that it was white. His story was rather
involved, but I gathered that he had received the child from a dying
woman in the jungle--a "Karen" he called her. It was moons ago, and how
the woman had got it he did not know--she had said "Bebe" and "Ingalay"
and had died. Yes, she had said "Mah Kloo," which must have been her
name. These Burmese women generally have the prefix "Mah," and so this
was little clue. They call anything white "Ingalay" (English) as a rule,
so that also is no guide. I thought possibly the child might be
half-caste, but feel sure now he is pure European, more suggestive of
Spanish or Italian blood, I think. However, I am going from my story. I
hesitated what to do, but the man was in such trouble, and so insistent,
repeating over and over the necessity of propitiating the "good spirit,"
that I called my wife, and she decided we must take the little waif, or
it would die in the basket.

'For many days it seemed only just alive. My wife was doctor and nurse,
however, and we m