"Are you really?" he said with an incredulous smile.

"Oh, yes, I attend the convent school; I am learning French and dancing, I go to ma.s.s; mother goes to the paG.o.da festivals--mother is a heathen."

"Rosetta! Mind what you are saying," sharply interposed Salter; "your mother's no more a heathen than yourself."

"Rosetta is a nasty little girl," said Mrs. Salter, rising, "she forgets herself before company, and must go away to be----"

A succession of shrieks interrupted the verdict.

"Oh, do forgive her, please!" implored Shafto; "I ask it as a favour, a special favour."

Meanwhile Rosetta clung to her mother apostrophising her in an unknown tongue, then with piercing screams, entirely regardless of her beautiful clean frock, she flung herself flat upon the floor.

If Shafto had been inclined to meditation, he might have reflected on the future of the offspring of two such divergent countries as the West Riding of Yorkshire and Pegu. At one moment the prim, well-mannered English girl; the next, an impulsive, emotional daughter of the Far East. When she grew to woman's estate, which of the races would predominate?

Meanwhile, as Rosetta lay p.r.o.ne and kicking upon the _dhurri_, her father murmured apologetically:

"When the la.s.sie is a bit over-fired and excited, she doesn't know what she is saying."

Mee Lay raised her struggling offspring, was about to bear her away and give her "Tap Tap," when again Shafto interposed:

"Oh, I say, do forgive her this time, please, Mrs. Salter. This is my first day in Rangoon--and I ask it as a particular favour."

Mee Lay, an adoring parent, was by no means reluctant to grant his pet.i.tion, and when the tearful culprit was released and set down, she turned to Shafto and said in her piping treble:

"Thank you, nice gentleman, but she would not have hurt me much. It was not I who said mother was a heathen savage, but Ethel Lucas, and I slapped her, so I did--and Sister gave me a bad mark. I, too, go to the paG.o.da festivals and like them awfully much. There are bells and beads, and flowers and priests, the same as in the convent."

"Now that peace has been declared, Rosetta, here is a chocolate," said her father, "and you can go to bed. Shafto, we will adjourn into the veranda to smoke, watch the rising moon, and listen to the hum of the bazaar--a new sound for your ears!"

In a few minutes both were extended in comfortable, long cane chairs, no doubt experiencing an agreeable sense of _bien etre_. The outlook, with its heavy foliage, was restful to the eye, and the air was charged with a spicy warmth.

Presently Salter began: "On Monday you are due at the office to report yourself. You need not be scared at the Head, although he has a stiff, discouraging sort of manner, and they say that, like the east wind, he finds out all your weak points in the twinkling of an eye! He is just and impartial, and no man is more respected in the whole of Burma than George Gregory. I suppose you know that Gregory's is one of the oldest-established houses here?"

Shafto nodded; he had learned this fact on board ship.

"We do a great trade and employ a number of young fellows, mostly from public schools and universities. One or two other firms do not engage gentlemen--for reasons that, perhaps, you may guess. Out of business hours our house keeps a sharp eye on their employes. A young chap can get into any amount of mischief in Rangoon--Rangoon is full of temptations."

"Oh, is it?" muttered Shafto indifferently--what could its temptations offer in comparison to London?

"Anyhow it seems a huge, stirring sort of place," he added, as he watched motors, bicycles, and _gharries_ whirring past the entrance.

"Stirring! Why you may say so--it's humming like a hive day and night.

There are so many taps to turn in this wealthy country--timber, rice, wolfram, jade, tin, oil, rubies. A man with a little capital, if he does not lose his head, can make a fortune in ten years, especially in paddy. Our particular trade is teak and paddy--that's rice, you know.

I expect your work will be on the wharf and pretty heavy at first."

"Well, anyway, it's an open-air job."

"Yes, you have the pull now; this is our cold season--October to March; but the hot weather is no joke; as for the rains, you might as well live in a steam laundry; we get a hundred inches here in Lower Burma."

"A hundred inches!" echoed Shafto, "you are not serious?"

"Yes; it pours down as if the sea were overhead, and goes on steadily for days. Frogs flop round and round your room, and you can almost hear the trees growing. In the rains the forests are a wonderful sight, such dense ma.s.ses of foliage and flowers. Can you imagine great trees entirely covered with exquisite blooms, and garlands of pink and lilac creepers interlacing the jungle?"

"How gorgeous! Perhaps I may see all this some day," said Shafto, "after I have explored Rangoon itself."

"Well, I hope you may," a.s.sented his companion, "and now I want to ask you a strange question."

"All right--ask away!"

"You have only been a few hours on sh.o.r.e, and I am curious to know if you have received any impression of the place and people--you know, first impressions go a long way!"

"Yes. Although I have only just rattled through the streets and along the Strand, the impression I gathered is that the Burmese appear to be an amazingly happy crew, with no thought for the morrow; they were all laughing and chattering as if life was a splendid joke and they enjoyed it thoroughly. The _joie de vivre_ simply hits me in the eye!"

"I can explain all that," said Salter, putting down his cheroot and sitting forward in his long chair. "The Burman has no fear of death, but proclaims an intense consciousness that it is a mere pa.s.sing over to another existence--one of a chain of many future lives--and I think I may say that this belief is universal. They also declare that a man's, present life is absolutely controlled by the influence of past good or bad deeds, and that in the next world they may possibly be better off than they are in this. Although a Burman gives alms, worships at the paG.o.da on appointed days, and repeats the doxology he has learnt at school, he governs his life by the _nats_--spirits of the air, the forests, streams, and home, who must be propitiated."

"I never heard of these _nats_ until now," said Shafto.

"No; but, as I have said before, you will hear a good deal about them here, especially if you mix with the Burmans."

"I certainly hope I shall see something of the people of the country."

"You will find them interesting; a full-blooded, pleasure-loving race; they've curious, original ideas, drawn from their ancient and sacred books, and an amazingly generous notion of time. For instance, they talk glibly of worlds a hundred thousand years old, and believe that this very planet has been destroyed no fewer than sixty-five times--chiefly by fire, on ten occasions by water, and once by wind!

According to them, as in the New Testament, 'a thousand years are but as yesterday.' And yet they do not acknowledge the existence of a Supreme Being--the highest glory is annihilation."

At this moment a light little figure flitted up the stairs, leaving an impression of slender elegance and satin skirt.

"Ah, there goes Ma Chit, my wife's cousin!" explained Salter.

"And I must be taking my departure," said Shafto rising. "What you have been telling me is extraordinarily interesting, and I would gladly sit on for hours, but it is ten o'clock."

"Yes, and we workers are early birds. I hope you will come and see us again. I have been twenty years in the country and I can tell you many a curious tale. To-morrow will be Sunday and, if you like, I will call round and take you to do a bit of sightseeing--the PaG.o.da and the lakes."

"I should enjoy it of all things; perhaps you will have tiffin with me at the hotel?"

"No, you must come to us; twelve o'clock sharp, and afterwards we'll make a start."

"Then I'll just go in and say good-bye to Mrs. Salter."

When they entered the sitting-room, where lamps had been lighted, they found the lady of the house in an ecstasy of admiration, gesticulating with her tiny brown hands, as she gloated over a length of rose and silver brocade. Standing beside her was the proud owner of this magnificence; a slim, graceful girl, wearing heavy gold ornaments and flowers in her hair, and, in spite of an extravagant use of pearl powder, undeniably pretty. Her slanting eyes were long-lashed and expressive, and her little mocking mouth wore a bewitching smile.

"Look at my _tamain_, Papa Salter!" she cried; "a piece of the best satin, just enough for a skirt--one yard and a half; Herr Bernhard brought it to me from England."

"Splendid indeed, Ma Chit," he replied; "you will cut them all out at the big festival and the _Pwes_. Mee Lay, Mr. Shafto wishes to say 'good night'!"

Mee Lay took a somewhat preoccupied leave of her guest, her eyes and attention being riveted upon the gorgeous material in her hand; but Ma Chit accorded the young man a gay salutation and a splendid view of her beautiful white teeth.

Salter accompanied his guest to the entrance gate, giving him careful directions as to the whereabouts of his hotel. It was an exquisite starlight night; the roar of the bazaar, the clang of the trams, and the whistling of launches were in the distance; the compound itself was so still that the sudden thud of a fallen jack-fruit made quite a startling sound. As the men exchanged last words, their attention was arrested by a charming tableau in the lighted sitting-room; two figures were outlined in strong relief against the dark teak walls, both absorbed in conversation. Ma Chit presented a particularly attractive picture, with her rose-crowned head, graceful posture, and waving hands; even as they gazed, her rippling laugh drifted seductively towards them.