but they did not heed them; and gnawed ravenously at some half-eaten bones that were strewed about.

Then they curled themselves up in one corner and slept. After a few hours the lady dog woke up and looked about her. Through the opening she saw the moonlight falling on the country outside; everything was strangely still, save for the distant cry of the jackal, and the healthy snoring of her spouse, who reposed in the corner. She felt alarmed, she could not exactly have told why, and awakened her companion, who grumbled not a little at being thus rudely roused from his slumbers.

"Supposing," began his companion, not heeding his displeasure, "that the tiger was to return."

"What!" cried the listener, sharply jumping up in extreme alarm at the bare suggestion.

"Don't make that unearthly noise," said the lady, calmly. "I only said supposing, and I was going to ask you what we should do in such a case."

"Do! why, what could we do?—nothing, of course," was the somewhat contemptuous reply.

Just then an ominous crackling of the branches outside made them prick their ears. Creeping close to the opening, they looked out and saw in the distance a large tiger coming towards them, a white light, clear almost as the dawn, fell about him, showing his big head and striped back. The watchers trembled exceedingly, and their teeth rattled.

"There is no time to be lost," exclaimed the lady in a hoarse whisper. "We must trust to his never having seen any like us before, and we must try and frighten him."

"Humbug and nonsense! Fancy our frightening a tiger," said the gentleman dog with infinite scorn.

"Never mind, we'll try; you sit at the door while I remain in here. When I roar—well, you'll see the effect."

The dog very unwillingly took up his position at the entrance to the lair, and waited. In a second almost the great beast came slouching along; his gleaming eyes glanced hither and thither, and there was blood upon his mouth. Seeing the dog, he came to an abrupt pause, and stared, then came a little nearer, but very cautiously.

Just then there came a cry from within, accompanied by the words, "I am hungry, very hungry, and so are the little ones, they crave more tiger's flesh; be quick and bring it."

The tiger, hearing, waited for no more, but turned and fled into the night. He knew not what he had seen, but the words that he had heard had turned him cold with fear.

He flew on away into the wood, not heeding where he went. Then, just as the first rose flush of dawn overspread the sky, he sank down exhausted, with a cold perspiration all over him. He fell into a troubled, weary doze, from whence he was awakened by a banana dexterously aimed, hitting him in the eye. Looking up he saw a brown monkey swinging itself on the branch of a tree opposite, and regarding him with all that gleeful self-satisfaction which a monkey is alone capable of.

"Well, my friend," it cried, mockingly, "what has put you out? You look strangely pale and upset this morning."

"I have had sufficient cause," answered the tiger, rising and shaking himself; "for when I went home last night I found it filled by the most peculiar-looking animals that I have ever seen, who shouted for my flesh."

The listener cocked its ugly little head on one side as it munched bananas, and asked, "What were they like?"

"Don't ask me," exclaimed the tiger. "I was too frightened to see anything save that they were white."

The monkey flung itself up higher among the boughs and laughed loudly and long.

"If you don't stop that hideous noise I'll kill you," called out the tiger very angrily, regardless of the fact that he could not get within miles of his tormentor.

"Ha, ha! my friend," shouted the monkey, "the things that you were frightened of were two poor lean dogs, that went by here yesterday. What a great coward you are!"

"Coward or no coward, they would have killed me and eaten me."

"Eaten you! Oh, you great silly goose! With all your travels you don't know any more than that dogs can't kill you. You can kill dogs."

"I don't believe you," protested the tiger stolidly.

"Don't then," said the monkey, laconically, as he turned a somersault.

There was silence for a while. The tiger sat down dejectedly while the monkey watched him through the leaves and chuckled maliciously, continuing to eat noiselessly as he watched.

Having once had sufficient himself, he was not indisposed to be a little generous, so, taking some berries in one brown paw, he climbed down nearer the ground, and tendered them to his melancholy friend as an overture, saying as he did so—

"Eat and forget for awhile."

"I can never forget the loss of my dear home," was the melancholy reply.

"Nonsense," retorted the other one, who was practical, not sentimental, and who had a hundred homes all equally comfortable in the forest.

"It's no nonsense," said the tiger, shaking his head.

"Well," exclaimed the monkey, after a few seconds, "if you really are afraid to go back, which is ridiculous, I will come with you, for I fear no dogs."

"I wouldn't trust you," replied the tiger, ungraciously. "You have played me a scurvy trick or two before now."

The monkey became indignant, saying, "It is just like your mean, suspicious nature to speak so to a friend who, out of pure good nature, is willing to do you a turn. What motive can I have save generosity?—no good can accrue to me personally."

The tiger grunted an unwilling assent, and began to think seriously of accepting the offer.

"Well," he said at last, "if you will consent to be tied to my tail, and to go in first to the den, my back being to you, and face the dog, I am willing."

"Agreed," answered the monkey, who was an interfering little creature, and was longing to have his finger in the pie.

So they went, the monkey tied to his friend's tail, chattering all the way.

"Now," said the tiger, who was sullen and afraid as they came in sight of his lair, "if you don't behave fairly to me I will murder you, that's all."

"Never fear; I won't give you the opportunity of carrying out your amiable intention, because I shall act only as your true friend," replied the monkey.

Then he pushed aside the thick-growing foliage and entered into the cave, the tiger keeping as far away as possible, his hind-legs inside and the rest of him out. The dogs were lying down, but roused themselves on seeing their visitor.

"Well, monkey," shouted one, "so you have come at last, but that," looking behind him, "is a very lean tiger that you have brought. Why do you do so when you know that we like them so sleek and fat, and——" but the monkey heard no more. He was gone—jerked violently away by the tiger, who, suspecting his fidelity all along, was convinced of his perfidy by the words of the dog's greeting.

Away, away he sped, without turning back, over hill and dale, bump, bump, bang, bang, went the poor monkey's body, while he vainly protested his innocence in breathless, terrified shrieks. At last death came and ended his pain.

The two dogs sat and watched them till their eyes grew tired.

They laughed greatly as one said to the other, "See what happened to the monkey for interfering in other people's business."

PART OF THE PALACE OF THE KING, MANDALAY.

THE STOLEN TREASURE.

IN a lonely part of a large forest there dwelt four wise men of India who owned a treasure consisting of gold, silver, and great jewels: like all property it was a source of great anxiety to its owners, for they always feared that it would be stolen from them. With that idea they constantly watched it, counted it, and changed its hiding-place; burying it sometimes under trees, or in a ruined well that stood not far distant; at other times with them in the house.

For many long years they had kept it safely thus, so safely indeed that gradually they grew a little less zealous in their guardianship: the confidence born of long and unmolested peace made them somewhat careless; and so in some inexplicable manner news of its existence floated to the ears of a young man who dwelt in the town not so many miles away, and he at once made up his mind that he would become possessed of it. Being wise he only took counsel of himself, and bided his time with much patience.

He made the acquaintance of the four recluses, and watched their movements and studied their habits with much diligence. He was a handsome, high-spirited youth, with manners that were frank and engaging, and the old men liked to see him and talk to him, soon growing to look forward to his visits.

Months passed, and he went to see them often. They conversed unreservedly before him and trusted him as one of themselves.

As time passed and no opportunity of taking the treasure offered itself, he began to be impatient, and was indeed almost reduced to despair when he learnt, to his inexpressible pleasure, that they intended going on a day's pilgrimage in the near future.

He laid his plans.

When the day came he rode to the forest on a pony, and, dismounting, fastened it near by as was his custom, and went within. The garden, with its moss-overgrown, decayed walls, was quite still save for the song of the birds. The sun fell through the leaves of the trees and made brilliant patches of light on the grass.

The rooms of the house were dark and cool and empty. There were the broken remains of a meal and various things belonging to the absent masters scattered about. The visitor looked round and about him carefully, peering here and there, then, having quite satisfied himself that only he and the feathered world shared the stillness, he smiled.

Some hours later the pilgrims returned home: they had been far and were wearied; they rested for awhile, then ate their evening meal and prepared to make ready for the night. As was customary with them they went to look at the treasure where they had put it in an upper room, to find to their unspeakable horror and dismay that it was gone. They looked on one another in mute amazement and despair; they beat their breast; there were no words to describe what they felt in that hour when they bewailed its loss in a helpless, hopeless way.

After awhile one of them said—

"He who has come here so many times of late with fair words and fairer smiles, it is he who hath done this thing."

The others agreed that it was only he who could have, for no one else had ever penetrated to their abode or shared their confidence. Too late they bitterly rued having ever received the stranger.

They sat long that night talking. One said—

"We have no proof save our own conviction that he whom we met as a friend and a brother has robbed us; therefore what can we do?"

The others answered him—

"We will seek the King, to our requests he has always leant a kind and willing ear."

Meanwhile homeward through the sultry night rode a horseman with a heavy load.

When the dawn broke, they who had been robbed set out together to seek the Court of the King.

His Majesty, who was revered for his goodness, had one daughter who to a keen intellect united great beauty, and was renowned throughout her father's dominions and even in countries beyond the sea.

Whenever the King or his ministers were perplexed as to how to act in any particular matter they invariably consulted the Princess, who on each and all such occasions had guided them aright; while no chicanery or fraud ever passed her undetected.

All that was brave, lofty, and good she admired, honoured, and followed. All that was mean, low, and dishonest she abhorred.

United to a powerful mind were many womanly, gracious, and charitable qualities, which made her beloved in humble circles as well as respected in high ones.

Therefore when the four petitioners sought the King, it was with the idea of humbly pleading for the Princess's assistance.

The King, who knew them, received them at once on their arrival and listened to all that they had to say, agreeing with them in their suspicions. He asked them, when he had heard their story, if they could identify the property if they were to see it anywhere; to which they answered, "Yes."

Then, bidding them rest and refresh themselves, he went himself to the apartments of his daughter and told her the tale that he had heard. She was very much interested, and gladly promised to do what she could, telling her father that if the young man could be found and brought to the palace she fancied that she could restore to them their lost goods.

Whereupon the King consulted the four, and a messenger was sent to search and bring the young fellow with as little delay as possible. The envoy of His Majesty found him whom they desired with but little difficulty, who received the royal summons with much astonishment and some fear. Instinctively he felt that it was with regard to the stolen jewels that he was sent for, and he trembled not a little as he set out.

Were the theft ever to be discovered he knew full well that his punishment would not be a light one. Almost he felt inclined to regret that he had ever embarked on so hazardous a course, but then the memory of the shining heaps of gold and silver and the glittering stones, and all that they represented, came to him, and he laughed and shook off all feelings of fear; for how, after all, he said to himself, could they prove that it was he who was the thief?

When he arrived at the palace, therefore, he was quite light-hearted, and walked through the lines of servants with a haughty, self-confident air.

They ushered him through many halls and at last into a large and most beautifully decorated apartment situated at the end of a long vista of salons. The four walls had bas-reliefs of graceful figures of women in coloured marble and uncut jewels. The hangings were of ivory satin, embroidered with elephants and dragons in dead gold. From the ceiling were suspended magnificent lamps of many finely blended colours. A large fountain splashed softly near by; the floor was strewn with tiger skins; the air was heavy with strong perfume; while the light from without stole in subdued and cool through green blinds. But what riveted the visitor's attention beyond all else was a couch of immense dimensions stretching across the upper end of the room, reclining on