on a wooden box fixed on the top of an upright pole, searching diligently for fleas and occasionally emitting a plaintive, mournful whimper. In the dim interior of the house the forms of two or three women could be indistinctly seen, and their voices sounded amid the recurring clack of crockery. Now and again a laugh-the laugh of a very young girl—rippled out, its merry cadences striking a note of joyousness and youth.
Presently a youngster, brilliantly dressed in silks of many colours, swaggered into the compound. He carried a kris in his girdle, and a short sword. with a sheath of polished wood, in his hand.
"O Che' Mat Drus," he cried, as soon as he caught sight of the old man in the doorway.
"What thing is it?" inquired the latter, pausing in the preparation of his betel quid, and raising weary eyes to gaze on the newcomer.
"The Grandfather (Chief) sends greetings and bids you come on the morrow's morn to the rice-field—you and all your folk, male and female, young and old—to aid in plucking the tares from amid the standing erop."
"It is well," mumbled Che Mat Drus, resuming his pounding stolidly.
"But listen. The Grandfather sends word that no one of your household is to remain behind. Do you understand? The womenfolk also must come, even down to the girl Mînah, whom your son Dâman hath recently taken to wife."
"If there be no sickness, calamity, or impediment
