me from?'

'Let him alone, Briggs,' said the school captain (a pleasant-faced, tall
boy). 'Dr. Rayne asked me to look after him a bit. I say, though, young
'un, call yourself "Fife," that's quite enough; we don't have Christian
names here, you know.'

'Well, Christy, you needn't punch my head, I don't want to harm the
infant,' cried Briggs. 'He can tell me where he comes from,
anyhow--can't you, new kid?'

'I lived at Fort Caidman, in the Shan States--Burmah, you know.'

'And what can you do, play football and cricket?'

'No, I have not really played them, but I want to. There were no white
boys besides me, but I can shoot, and ride, and row, and fence, and
throw darts.'

A group of boys had gathered round--little Paul tried not to feel shy.

'Where did you row?' asked one; 'was there a river?'

'Not near, but there was a big lake like a sea--the Inthas live there.
They are called lake-dwellers, and their huts stand on the top of the
water--Uncle Ferrers took me to their huts sometimes. The Inthas row so
funnily, partly with their legs. They can row, oh, so fast, and fish,
and hold an umbrella, all at the same time!'

'Oh, I say, that must be a cram, anyhow. Tell the infant he must not
tell lies, Christy.'

'I don't, and I won't tell you things if you say that,' and the child
drew himself up haughtily and turned away, clenching his small brown
fists.

'It is a shame, you chaps,' said Christy. 'I know he has come from some
queer place in Burmah.'

'Did you see his hair?' said Fane. 'It's as black as a coal, and just in
one place is a white streak--he is a regular magpie. Hurrah! there's the
tea-bell.'

'Oh, I have heard my mother say some one she knew had a lock of white
hair--it looks rather jolly,' rejoined Christy. 'I say, little piebald,
don't mind our ragging. I'm awfully hungry, and I dare say you are.
There is cold beef always for tea first night of term--worth having, I
can tell you. Come along with me, and I will show you where to sit.'

* * * * *

Paul soon began to feel more at home as a small unit in the hundred boys
at Oakwood.

'Wonderful at mathematics and no idea of classics' (was the verdict of
the masters), 'but can talk Gramouki and Pushtan dialects like a
native.'

'No good at football and cricket, but promises well,' said the boys,
'and can climb and jump anything, and use his fists, too.'

Ten days had passed, and Dr. Rayne, at work in his libra