“A water drinker?”

“Well, sorr, I’m tell ye no lie—­not altogether; I am not a teetotaller all out, I’m a sober man, and I mostly drink cocoanut water and tea.  It’s a fine, free life, I can tell ye.”

“Fine and idle, eh?”

“I’m not more idle than the rest of them; it’s true that I don’t teach, and, of course, it’s only the young fellows that do the sweeping, water-carrying and filtering, and the work at the kyoung.  I see a heap of the country and have many friends, who give me small presents, and smokes and food; I have a far better time—­a thousand times a better time—­than sweating in route marches and carrying round Orderly books in Rangoon or Calcutta; and many a the quare tale I could tell ye—­tales about animals and elephant dances and big snakes, ay, and spirit tales that would open your eyes.”

“Well, if it’s any comfort to know it, you’ve opened my eyes about as wide as they will go.  What is your real name?”

“Michael Ryan.  Me father came from Cork—­a real fine country for fighting men, and I understand that, once upon a time, my ancestors had a great kingdom beyond the Shannon.  Well, sorr,” now beginning to unfold himself and rise from the bed, “I thought I’d just drop in and explain matters a bit before I go up country.”

“That was very thoughtful of you, Mung Baw.”

“I’ll be back in a while, and I needn’t tell ye, Mr. Shafto, that as long as I draw breath I’ll never forget how I’m beholden to ye.  I’m vowed to poverty, of course, but I’m a rover and go about a lot, and some day I may be able to put a good thing in your way, and I can tell ye one thing—­ye have a lucky face!”

“I’m glad to hear it; and now, before you depart, will you tell me something else?  How do you contrive to get so much liberty—­careering round the town with Tommies and coming to look me up?  It’s past seven o’clock—­and I understand your Roll Call is at six.”

“That’s true,” assented the pongye, “but there are exceptions, and I’m one of them,” suddenly sliding off the bed and drawing himself up to his full height—­about six feet two.  “I don’t enjoy very good health being, as ye understand, no native of the country; so I’m allowed a certain margin and liberty.  Well now, I’ll be takin’ leave of ye; but before I go, I want you to accept something I brought you—­just a small trifle of a talisman.”

And from some mysterious receptacle he produced a good-sized dark stone, about the size of a pigeon’s egg.  “Now, whatever ye do, put this carefully away and keep it safe and secure.”

Shafto took it in his hand, examined the gift and murmured his thanks.

“No harm of any sort can come next or nigh ye,” continued the pongye, “as long as that stone’s in your possession—­and that’s as shure as me name’s Mung Baw.”

And hastily collecting his umbrella and bowl, before Shafto could realise the intended move the stranger was gone.  Nothing remained of his visit but the curious aromatic odour and the so-called “talisman.”  The stone was round, dark and by no means beautiful, and at first Shafto was inclined to throw it into the compound, but, on second thoughts, he thrust it into his dispatch box and locked it away.