ving, and that flies were dancing right
on the top of his thick curly hair.

The story went on, but the story-teller never once looked at the prince,
even through her veil, though he on his side never moved his eyes from
her. When she reached the part where she had sat weeping in the tree,
the king's son could restrain himself no longer.

'It is my wife,' he cried, springing to where she sat with the sleeping
child in her lap. 'They have lied to me, and you are not dead after all,
nor the boy either! But what has happened? Why did they lie to me?
and why did you leave my house where you were safe?' And he turned and
looked fiercely at his father.

'Let me finish my tale first, and then you will know,' answered she,
throwing back her veil, and she told how her brother had come to the
palace and accused her of being a witch, and had tried to persuade the
king to slay her. 'But he would not do that,' she continued softly, 'and
after all, if I had stayed on in your house, I should never have met the
snake, nor have got my hand back again. So let us forget all about it,
and be happy once more, for see! our son is growing quite a big boy.'

'And what shall be done to your brother?' asked the king, who was glad
to think that someone had acted in this matter worse than himself.

'Put him out of the town,' answered she.

From 'Swaheli Tales,' by E. Steere.

The Bones of Djulung

In a beautiful island that lies in the southern seas, where chains of
gay orchids bind the trees together, and the days and nights are equally
long and nearly equally hot, there once lived a family of seven sisters.
Their father and mother were dead, and they had no brothers, so the
eldest girl ruled over the rest, and they all did as she bade them. One
sister had to clean the house, a second carried water from the spring
in the forest, a third cooked their food, while to the youngest fell the
hardest task of all, for she had to cut and bring home the wood which
was to keep the fire continually burning. This was very hot and tiring
work, and when she had fed the fire and heaped up in a corner the sticks
that were to supply it till the next day, she often threw herself down
under a tree, and went sound asleep.

One morning, however, as she was staggering along with her bundle on her
back, she thought that the river which flowed past their hut looked so
cool and inviting that she determined to bathe in it, instead of taking
her usual nap.