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Title: Our Little Hindu Cousin
Author: McManus, Blanche, 1869-
Language: English
As this book started as an ASCII text book there are no pictures available.
Copyright Status: Not copyrighted in the United States. If you live elsewhere check the laws of your country before downloading this ebook. See comments about copyright issues at end of book.

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Our Little Hindu Cousin


Little Cousin Series


Each volume illustrated with six or more full-page plates in tint.
Cloth, 12mo, with decorative cover, per volume, 60 cents



(unless otherwise indicated)

    =Our Little African Cousin=

    =Our Little Alaskan Cousin=
          By Mary F. Nixon-Roulet

    =Our Little Arabian Cousin=
               By Blanche McManus

    =Our Little Armenian Cousin=
          By Constance F. Curlewis

    =Our Little Australian Cousin=

    =Our Little Brazilian Cousin=
            By Mary F. Nixon-Roulet

    =Our Little Brown Cousin=

    =Our Little Canadian Cousin=
         By Elizabeth R. MacDonald

    =Our Little Chinese Cousin=
         By Isaac Taylor Headland

    =Our Little Cuban Cousin=

    =Our Little Dutch Cousin=
             By Blanche McManus

    =Our Little Egyptian Cousin=
                By Blanche McManus

    =Our Little English Cousin=
              By Blanche McManus

    =Our Little Eskimo Cousin=

    =Our Little French Cousin=
              By Blanche McManus

    =Our Little German Cousin=

    =Our Little Greek Cousin=
         By Mary F. Nixon-Roulet

    =Our Little Hawaiian Cousin=

    =Our Little Hindu Cousin=
             By Blanche McManus

    =Our Little Indian Cousin=

    =Our Little Irish Cousin=

    =Our Little Italian Cousin=

    =Our Little Japanese Cousin=

    =Our Little Jewish Cousin=

    =Our Little Korean Cousin=
               By H. Lee M. Pike

    =Our Little Mexican Cousin=
              By Edward C. Butler

    =Our Little Norwegian Cousin=

    =Our Little Panama Cousin=
               By H. Lee M. Pike

    =Our Little Philippine Cousin=

    =Our Little Porto Rican Cousin=

    =Our Little Russian Cousin=

    =Our Little Scotch Cousin=
              By Blanche McManus

    =Our Little Siamese Cousin=

    =Our Little Spanish Cousin=
    By Mary F. Nixon-Roulet

    =Our Little Swedish Cousin=
              By Claire M. Coburn

    =Our Little Swiss Cousin=

    =Our Little Turkish Cousin=

    New England Building,      Boston, Mass.


(_See page 19_)]

Our Little Hindu Cousin

By Blanche McManus

    _Author of "Our Little English Cousin," "Our
    Little French Cousin," "Our Little Dutch
    Cousin," "Our Little Scotch
    Cousin," etc._

_Illustrated by_

The Author


    L. C. Page & Company

    _Copyright, 1907_

    _All rights reserved_

    Second Impression, August, 1908


OUR little cousins of Hindustan are charming little people, even though
their manners and customs and their religion are so very different from
our own.

India is a big country, and there are many different races of people
living within its borders, the two principal ones being the Mohammedans
and the Hindus. The Mohammedans number about sixty millions and there
are about a hundred and eighty millions of Hindus, who are by far the
superior race.

The intelligence of the Hindus is of a very high order, but, like all
Eastern races, they have many superstitions. Their attention to their
food and drink and personal cleanliness is remarkable, and, though
their customs in this respect are peculiar, they follow a healthful and
sanitary manner of living which might well be practised by Western folk.

The arts and crafts of the Hindus and their trades and professions are
very strange and interesting, and the young people themselves invariably
grow up in the same occupations as their elders. There is no mixing of
the races or _castes_, and members of one caste always associate with
those of the same class.

But the English influence is making itself so strongly felt, that
frequently the children learn English as early in life as they do their
own language; so our little American cousins would almost always be able
to make of them good playfellows and would perhaps be able to learn many
valuable lessons from Our Little Hindu Cousins.

                                                            B. McM.

SUEZ, _January, 1907_.


  CHAPTER                                                 PAGE
    I. CHOLA AT HOME                                         1
   II. A DAY IN THE BAZAAR                                  16
  III. THE CHILDREN'S HOLIDAY                               35
  VII. CHOLA GOES ON A TIGER HUNT                           94

List of Illustrations

  CHOLA IN HIS FATHER'S SHOP (_See page 19_)     _Frontispiece_
  BUYING SWEETS IN THE BAZAAR                               30
  "FIRST THERE CAME A BIG ELEPHANT"                         57
        AND THREW INTO THE RIVER"                           69
  THE MARRIAGE OF SHRIYA                                    76
        SPRANG A GREAT YELLOW TIGER"                       102

[Illustration: _Map of_ INDIA _showing places mentioned in_ OUR LITTLE

Our Little Hindu Cousin



IT was barely light when little Chola rolled out of his blanket and gave
his cousin Mahala a shake as he lay stretched out beside him.

"Lazy one, listen! I hear little kids bleating below in the courtyard;
the new goats with the long hair must have come. Hasten! We will be the
first to see them!"

"Oh!" said Mahala, sitting up and rubbing his eyes, "thou art the plague
of my life. I was in the midst of a beautiful dream. I dreamed that I
was sitting beside a clear stream, with many dishes of sweetmeats
beside me, and I was just beginning to eat them when thou didst wake

"Oh, thou greedy one! 'Tis always of sweets that thou art thinking,"
laughed Chola, as he and Mahala ran down the little winding stairway
which led from their room into the courtyard.

"Here they are, aren't they dear little creatures?" cried Chola, as two
little kids came frisking toward them, while the big white mother goat
followed them bleating piteously.

"What fine long white hair they have," exclaimed Mahala, trying to catch
one of the kids as it bounded past him.

"A lot of fuss over some goats," grumbled the old porter. "This fellow
with his goats came hammering before cock-crow at the gate," continued
the old man, who did not like having to come down from his little room
over the big gateway of the court at such an early hour to open the

"We are early risers in the hills," said the man who had brought the
goats. "It is you town folks who are lazy; but I promised your master
when he bought the goats in the market yesterday that he should have
them this morning."

"Oh, thou art from the hills," exclaimed the boys, looking curiously at
the little man in his strange dress.

"Yes, from the far northwest; and both I and my goats are homesick for
the tall mountains with the snow on their tops and the great pine-trees.
We like not these hot plains; but I must be off to the market," and,
twirling his stick, the little man left, clanging the heavy gate behind

"Come, we will bathe before our fathers come down," said Mahala, after
they had played about with the kids awhile; "they always say we are in
their way." So saying the two little boys ran into the big garden
where, under a group of mango-trees, there was a big stone tank, or
pond, of water, with steps going down into it. Here Chola and Mahala
bathed every morning, for it was part of their religion and must be done
in a certain way. Indeed, some of our little Hindu cousins bathe before
each meal; and this is why, all over India, you will see the people
bathing in the rivers, in the public bathing-places, and in their own
gardens at all times of the day. Moreover, it is a very pleasant custom
for a hot country like India. As the boys were splashing merrily about
in the big tank, down dropped a big mango right on top of Chola's head.

"Where did that come from?" he cried, looking around; but there was no
one to be seen, so he went on splashing, when down came another mango,
and a sound was heard as if some one was chuckling to himself.

"Oh, it's thou, son of mischief!" cried Chola, as a little monkey
leaped down and capered around on the edge of the tank.

It was Jam, Chola's pet monkey. A cousin of the gardener had caught it
in his field one night when he was guarding his crops from the monkeys.
These mischievous animals would often dash out in droves from the
near-by forest at night and eat up the farmers' crop. He did not wish to
kill the little monkey; for, like many Hindus, he thought it a sacred
animal. So he had brought it to Chola for a pet.

The boys had great fun with Jam, though often he would play mischievous
pranks on them. To-day Jam thought this was just his chance to have fun.
Spying Chola's turban lying beside his clothes on the steps of the tank,
he pounced upon it and carried it up into the mango-tree.

"Oh, son of mischief, just wait until I catch thee! Bring back my
turban!" cried Chola, as he scrambled out of the water and climbed up
after Jam in a jiffy. It would never do for him to lose his turban, for
it would be very bad manners for him to be seen without this curious
head-covering. But as Chola went up the tree, Jam climbed down by an
out-stretching limb and swung himself to the ground, then away he went
tearing around the garden with Chola after him. Suddenly Jam tossed the
turban over the garden wall and flew to the top of the house, wild with
joy at having given Chola such a chase.

"Oh, Mahala, find it for me," said Chola, as he dropped breathless on
the grass.

Mahala ran out into the road and was back directly.

"Here is thy turban all unrolled," he laughed, throwing what seemed to
be many yards of white cloth at Chola.

"Just wait until I take a good bamboo stick to thee, wicked one," said
Chola, shaking his fist at Jam, now safe out of reach, and beginning to
wind the cloth around his head.

After their bath it did not take the boys long to dress, for they just
wound a long white garment around and around them, and slipped over this
a little jacket.

"Let us go to the cook-room now and see what the women are cooking; to
dream of sweets does not take away one's hunger," said Mahala, after the
boys had given their teeth a vigorous washing and rubbing with little
sticks, which was another one of their religious duties.

As the boys ran across the courtyard, scattering the goats, doves, and
fowls which were picking up seeds and grain, a voice called out: "Give
me food, oh, little princelings!"

"That must be a beggar, but I do not see him," said Mahala, looking

"It is old green-coat," said Chola, laughing, and pointing to the other
side of the court where hung a hoop in which sat a beautiful parrot,
all brilliant green and blue and red. He could talk so well that a
stranger who came to the house would look everywhere to find the human
being who he thought had spoken to him. Once there came a thief who
thought he could steal the fine cock that stood under the veranda with
his head under his wing. Just as the thief caught the cock by the neck,
such a torrent of abuse came from above that he dropped the cock and
rolled in the dust, crying out: "Mercy! mercy! Oh, great one, thy slave
will never do this thing again!" Then as he heard a laugh, and no one
seized him, he fearfully lifted his head, and there sat the parrot
swinging on his hoop-perch. The thief slunk away very much ashamed that
he had been fooled by a bird.

"Ah, it smells good!" said Mahala, as they looked in at the door of the
cook-house which was near the great gateway.

There were no stoves or even fireplaces in the cook-room, but a series
of little holes or cupboards in the wall, in each of which was a pot or
pan resting on a few bricks or stones over a tiny fire. These little
ovens were near the floor, so that the cook could watch the pots and
pans while squatting. No Hindu stands up to any kind of work if he has a
chance to sit down.

Three or four women were squatting around watching the cooking, while
the boys' old grandmother bustled about scolding everybody within sight.

"Do not linger here," said the grandmother to the boys, "this is no
place for children."

"But, grandmother, Shriya is here," objected Mahala; "why can't we stay,

"I am helping grandmother," said Mahala's little sister Shriya, who,
with a very important air, was sitting on the floor stirring something
in a big bowl. Shriya felt that she was a person of importance these
days, for was she not going to be married soon!

"Shriya is a useful little girl; besides, why are you not in the great
room where thy fathers make sacrifice to the Gods of the Household?"
answered the old lady, rather tartly. Like all good cooks she did not
like to be bothered while she was preparing her dishes.

"Come away, the grandmother is always cross when she is in the
cook-room," whispered Chola; so he and Mahala crossed the court again
and went into the house.

If you should come to visit Chola, you would think no one lived there
when you first entered the house. You would see no furniture of any
kind, no tables or chairs, for every one sits cross-legged on mats or
rugs spread on the floor, or squats on their heels. The walls are
whitewashed and bare, and there are no pictures or knick-knacks such as
you have at home.

The great-room was the sitting-room and dining-room for all the family
except the women, who lived in their own part of the house, called the

At one end of the great-room was a shrine, in which was a curious old
idol of baked red clay. This was supposed to be the image of the family
god, and each morning offerings were made to it. This morning when the
boys came in, they found that the offerings of dishes of rice and
wreaths of flowers had already been placed around the old idol.

"Thou art late," called out Chola's father, who was sitting on the wide
veranda in front of the great-room, smoking his big pipe called a
_hookah_. It was very comfortable on the veranda, for all around it hung
mats of woven grass to keep off the burning sun and yet let in a cooling
breeze. You must know that India is a very hot country and that the
people make use of all sorts of things to make them comfortable. That
is why the houses all have broad verandas, where the folk can sit and
keep much cooler than within doors.

"It was all Jam's fault," said Chola, and he sat beside his father and
told of the trick the little monkey had played him, which amused his
father very much.

"You have spoilt Jam," he said. "Some day he will have to be sent back
to the forest if he does not behave himself better."

Meanwhile the steaming dishes of food were being brought from the
cook-house and placed on the big mat in the centre of the great-room;
this kept the grandmother and the boys' mothers busy, for they had to
serve three separate repasts, one for the men, one for the children, and
then, last of all, one for themselves. All this took a long time, for
there was Harajar Chumjeree, Chola's father, and his wife Lalla, and
Murree Rao, Chola's uncle, and his wife, and his son Mahala, and
Mahala's little sister Shriya, and the grandmother, and several cousins
and cousins' widows. They all lived in the big stone house, built around
a square courtyard, which stood in the middle of a large garden on the
outskirts of the beautiful city of Lucknow.

"Oh, grandmother, give us the fine white rice this morning with the
beautiful curry which thou hast made! None other tastes so good as
thine," said Chola, coaxingly, as he and his little cousins seated
themselves on the cleanly swept earthen floor of the great-room.

"Aha! art thou young rajahs that you should eat the beautiful rice of
the feast-days?" said the old lady, as she bustled back to the
cook-room; for the very fine rice is costly, and not usually given to
children every time they ask for it. Nevertheless, the old lady was
always pleased when they praised her curries, and, like other
grandmothers the world over, she quite spoiled her little grandsons.
So, presently, she came back with a big bowl of the fine white rice and
put a pile of it on each child's plate, taking care not to actually
touch the plates themselves, and then she made a hole, or basin, in the
centre of each pile and filled it with a steaming hot curry. This is one
of the dishes that the children were fondest of and there are many ways
of preparing it.

This curry of the grandmother's was made of several kinds of vegetables,
and was very hot and spicy indeed, but the children enjoyed it. After
this they had flat cakes of fried meal, and then a preserve of fruit.

"Here is milk from the new goats," said the grandmother, placing a big
bowl of goat's milk before each child; "but hasten, little ones, for I
and the mother and Shriya go with my son to the Bazaar to-day. There are
many things to buy for the wedding of my granddaughter," continued the
old lady, who was devoted to her grandchildren and really ruled the

"Oh, take me, too," cried Chola. "There are no lessons at the school;
for thou knowest it is a holiday, and Mahala goes with his father to
visit a cousin. I will be all alone."



SO it was settled that Chola should go, too. A little later the "_ekka
ghurrie_" was ready in the courtyard, and they all stowed themselves
away in it somehow. The "_ekka ghurrie_" is a funny kind of carriage
made of bamboo poles hung between two high wheels, with a red canopy to
keep off the sun. It was drawn by a little pony, and the shafts were
fastened to a stout bamboo stick across his high pointed collar.

They found themselves rather a tight fit, for the "_ekka_" was small;
and the _coolie_, or servant, who was driving had to balance himself as
best he could on one of the shafts. Nobody minded this, however, and
away went the little pony along the dusty road, past gardens and many
low, rambling two-storied houses very much like their own.

Everything looked wonderfully bright and gay. Many of the houses were
painted a brilliant pink or yellow with bright green verandas; and the
people, too, were dressed so gaily in all kinds of colours, though some
of them wore pure white, which looked nice and cool in the blazing sun.

Soon they passed the great gate of the city and came into the busy
streets of the Bazaar.

In all Eastern cities there is a part called the Bazaar, where are all
the shops; and in a large city like Lucknow the Bazaar is made up of
many streets of nothing but shops.

All the fruit and vegetable shops are in a street to themselves; all the
workers in brass and other metals in another. You will find the silk
merchants in one street; and, in still another, all the shops that sell
cotton goods,--the pretty flowered kinds stamped with tinsel as well as
plain white, for every one in India wears light cotton or silk clothes.

When they came to the street where the silk merchants were, the
grandmother and Shriya and her mother got out; for it was here they were
going to buy Shriya's pretty silk dresses and long veils, and other
pretty things.

"I would rather go with thee, father," said Chola, so he and his father
turned into another street. Here were the shops where wonderful gold and
silver work was made and sold; and where precious stones were set into
all kinds of rich and curious jewelry. The shop of Chola's father was
one of the largest in the street, though we would think it very small.
It was more like a big cupboard in the side of the street than anything
else; and he could reach nearly everything in it without getting up from
his seat. The shop had no name or sign over it, nor were there any
windows, while no doors were needed because the entire front was open to
the street, so that customers could look in to see if there was anything
they wished to buy without coming inside.

Chola sat on his heels watching his father as he sat cross-legged on a
carpet spread on the floor, putting a beautiful blue turquoise into the
setting of a silver necklace. Near to his elbow was a low table on which
were piles of precious stones. He liked to come with his father to the
Bazaar and watch him make the gold and silver into beautiful things.
When Chola was older he would come every day to the Bazaar, and his
father would teach him to be a silversmith like himself. Every little
Hindu boy follows the same trade as his father.

The Hindus love jewelry of all kinds, and both men and women wear
quantities of it. In fact much of their wealth is often put into the
form of necklaces, rings, and bracelets, which the women wear all the
time. The Hindus think this is the safest way to keep their wealth. So
you see why the jewellers do such a big trade in India.

"Father, there's a customer," whispered Chola, but Harajar paid not the
slightest attention to a tall man in a long silk robe, with a big turban
on his head, who stopped to look in the shop. A Hindu merchant usually
thinks it beneath his dignity to ask any one to buy his wares.

Presently the tall man said: "Are you happy?"

"I am happy," answered Harajar.

This is the Hindu way of saying "How do you do?"

Harajar then offered the tall man a seat on the rug, and his own
_hookah_ to smoke, which is the polite thing to do. The would-be
customer puffed away at the great pipe for some minutes, meanwhile
saying never a word. Soon he began to pay compliments; and then he
looked at, and priced, nearly everything in the shop before he asked the
price of the gold-mounted dagger on which he had had his eye all the
time. Then came the bargaining.

Chola knew that this would take all the morning, so he slipped away to a
shop a little way down the street, where a big yellow and red awning
hung across the roadway.

Here were beautiful brass ornaments of all kinds, lamps, vases,
pitchers, and what not, and Chola peered among these for a sight of his
little friend Nao. Only Nao's father was in sight, and he sat dozing
over his _hookah_. Farther down the street, however, Chola spied Nao's
embroidered cap bobbing about between two big camels laden with great
bales of cloth.

Nao as quickly caught sight of his friend Chola, and came running up at
once. "Oh, Chola," he cried, as he greeted his little friend by touching
his forehead and the palm of his right hand, "let us go to where the
caravans gather about the city gate; the man with the camels has just
told me that all the camels stopped there to rest on entering the city."

"Nay," said Chola, "there are wild, rough doings among the strange men
who come down from the hills with the camels. I have heard my father say

"Oh, go play with thy sister, then, I will go alone," said Nao, who made
out as if he would turn away.

"I am not afraid, I, too, will go and talk with the camel men," Chola
answered with spirit. No little Hindu boy likes to be told to stay at
home with the girls, because in his country it is a sad fact that little
girls are not thought as much of as boys, nor do they have so good a

The two boys slipped away through the crowded street, dodging between
lumbering wagons drawn by oxen, called buffaloes, and pushing their way
through a crowd of folk dressed in a great variety of costumes, all in
gay colours and with queer gaudy turbans on their heads. The turban
forms a very important part of the dress of the Hindu, and Chola could
tell by the colour and shape of each man's turban to just what _caste_
each man belonged and what business he was in. There are many of these
_castes_, or classes, of Hindu people, and each _caste_ keeps strictly
to itself. A person of one _caste_ must not marry outside his _caste_;
or touch persons of another _caste_, even; or eat with them, or have any
friendly dealings with them. Not only that, but you would think it very
tiresome, would you not, to have to remember not to sit next to that
person or touch this one? And that you must find out who cooked your
food before you might eat it? But this is what our little Hindu cousins
have to think of all the time.

Many of the men carried umbrellas of bright colours. Once only very high
and mighty people in Hindustan carried umbrellas, or rather had them
carried over them by a servant, but now nearly every one carries
one;--and they are needed in a country where the sun shines hotly all
the year round. For this same reason the streets are nearly covered in
by great spreading awnings drawn from one side to the other and forming
a sort of roof.

Just for fun the two boys got in the way of the "_bhisti_" or
water-carrier, so that the stream of water from the goatskin bag, with
which he was watering the dusty street, might play on their bare feet;
but when he turned it toward their heads, they ran away laughing.

"See! there must be a juggler over there," said Chola, pointing to a
circle of people around an old man with a gray beard.

The two boys pushed into the circle until they were near enough to see
what wonderful things the man was doing. He had just put a few seeds
into the dust under a small mat. "Behold," he cried, "there will grow up
a beautiful flower," and, sure enough, as he lifted up the mat, there
appeared a pot, and from the pot there began to grow up a stem and green
leaves, until finally it became a tall plant from which unfolded a great
red flower. All at once, as the juggler held the plant up for every one
to see, the flower changed into a cage containing two white doves, and,
when the door of the cage was opened, the doves came out and began to
circle about the juggler's head. At this there was a murmur of wonder
and surprise from the crowd. The doves entered the cage again; but, as
the people looked, the cage and doves and the red flower and the plant
with the green leaves all vanished; and the juggler stood on his little
grass mat with absolutely empty hands. Nothing could have been hidden
about him, for he had on no clothes except a cloth wrapped around his

"Is it not wonderful?" whispered Nao. "There be people who say it is
magic; and that there are no such things in sight as the flower and the
doves, and that it is all the power of the eye of the old man that makes
other people see things as he wants them to see them."

"Nay, it is real magic, and the flower did grow up before us," said
Chola. It would be hard for any one to believe otherwise; for it is true
that the jugglers of India do the most wonderful tricks, far more
wonderful than those we see in our own country, and no stranger can
really tell how they are done.

"How will you find your camel-man?" asked Chola, when finally the boys
came to the great square where the caravans camped. Everywhere were
camels and horses and men in strange costumes.

"He said he would be near the great gate," said Nao, as he and Chola
crept in and around the big camels and under them, constantly being
scolded by the men for getting in their way. Finally Nao spied his
friend sitting lazily smoking in the shade of the gateway, while he
watched his camels being unloaded.

"Welcome, oh, little friends," said the big, bluff fellow. "I suppose it
is no use to ask thee to share my dinner?" he continued, pointing to the
big dish of boiled rice, cabbage, and goat's meat which one of his
stable boys had just brought him.

The food smelt very good, but Chola and Nao shook their heads. They knew
by the blue turban and dress of their new friend that he was a
Mohammedan, and they would rather have starved than eaten food with him;
but they were quite willing to squat beside him in the dust in true
Hindu boy fashion, and listen to his strange tales of the far-away
countries which he had visited, as he ate his meal out of the big bowl.
They heard how he had come from the great plains of China, across the
snow-covered mountains of the north--the great Himalayas, the highest
mountains in the world;--and how his camels had waded through
snow-drifts up to their necks. He told them marvellous tales of the
great cities of Delhi and Lahore, with their marble palaces and
beautiful gardens; and of the great rice-fields of Burma. Sometimes he
had crossed the great desert going toward the west, and had seen the
splendid city of Bombay, and from there had gone on down the coast where
the tall palm-trees grow. He and his caravan had crossed India many
times, carrying merchandise from one part of the country to another. The
camel-man talked on until he had finished eating and was ready for a

"It must be fine fun to ride a camel," said Nao, as he and Chola made
their way back to the Bazaar.

"I think it is much nicer to ride a big elephant, as my Uncle Achmed
does when he goes about his lumber yards," answered Chola. "But, Nao,
the smell of thy friend's dinner has made me hungry. Let us buy some
sweetmeats," he continued, darting across the street to a little booth
where there were bowls and baskets filled with all kinds of sweet,
sticky things to eat that not only Hindu children like, but all the
grown-ups as well. When a Hindu wants a real treat, he eats as many
sweetmeats as he can.

Just as the boys got to the booth, a big bull buffalo came snorting
along. He evidently wanted sweets, too, for he stuck his head under the
awning of the little shop and took a big mouthful of preserved fruit
from one of the baskets, at the same time upsetting the contents of
another basket over the owner of the little shop, who was dozing among
his wares.


"Oh, the thief!" cried the man, jumping up angrily, though he dared not
do anything to the animal; for it was one of the sacred bulls from a
near-by temple. They were allowed to wander through the streets, though
they often robbed the shops in this mean fashion.

"'Tis no laughing matter," said the man, turning to the boys, who could
not help laughing at his discomfiture.

"Do not be cross," replied Chola, as he and Nao helped to pick up the
scattered sweets. "We are a different kind of customer from the buffalo.
How many '_cowries_' do you want for this almond paste? Not too many,
mind you," he continued, with an eye for a bargain, "for we helped you
save the others."

"And eaten some, too, I warrant," grumbled the man, still in a bad
humour, as he wrapped up the sweets in a large green leaf and gave it to
Chola, who paid him with some tiny shells, threaded on a string, which
he took from the wallet he carried in his dress. These _cowrie_ shells
are used for small pieces of money and are carried on strings. As you
may imagine, each shell is not of a great value.

"Let us eat our sweets here," said Chola, squatting in the shadow of a
wall; and, with his finger, drawing a circle round them in the dust.
This was intended as a sort of a boundary-line to keep any _low-caste_
person from coming too near them while they were eating. The boys
greatly enjoyed their candies, which they thought all the better for
being made with _ghu_, a sort of rancid butter.

Just as they were finishing the last bit, some one came up and touched
Nao on the shoulder.

"Who comes here to make my food unclean," he cried, jumping up angrily.

"Hush! It is a little Sahib. Doubtless he knows no better," said Chola,
as he looked around and saw an English boy standing by.

"I think those things look better than they taste," the boy said,
smiling, as he pointed to the sweets; "but I meant no harm. I only
wanted to ask if you could tell me where Colonel Scott lives. I think I
have lost my way."

"Ah, every one knows the Colonel Sahib; but the house is far from here;
in the street with the great trees near the Chutter Munzil," said Chola.

"Where the roofs look like big gold umbrellas, I know," said the English
boy. "My name is Harry, and Colonel Scott is my father. My mother and I
have just come from England; but my papa has been here a long time.
While he was buying something in one of the shops, I followed a man who
had a lot of performing birds; and the first thing I knew I had lost my
way." Harry rattled away, glad to find some one to talk to.

Chola could understand him fairly well, for he had been taught a little
English at his school.

"Yonder stands a '_rickshaw_.' It will take you quickly to your home,"
said Chola, proud to be able to talk to a little Sahib.

The little Hindu boys hailed the "_rickshaw_," and, nearly bursting with
importance, bargained with the man who pulled it to take the little
Sahib home.

"Perhaps I shall see you again, for I am going to live here now," said
Harry, as he thanked the boys and climbed into the "_rickshaw_," which
looked like a big perambulator. Away the man went with it at a lively
trot, with Harry waving his cap in the air as a good-bye to his
new-found friends.

Chola could talk of nothing but the "little Sahib" as they jogged home
in the "_ekka_" in the dusk of the evening.

There are many English people in India, because it is now a part of the
British Empire. So it is not surprising that Chola and Harry should meet
in this way and be able to talk to each other. Mahala was very much
disappointed because he had not been there, too, when he heard Chola
tell of his adventures as they ate their supper.



"CHOLA, art thou there?" said little Nao the next morning, peeping in
between the mats of the veranda. Nao lived in a pretty pink house next
to Chola's, and their gardens joined; so he and the two cousins were
great playmates.

"Yes, but I'm busy," said Chola, without looking around. The barber had
come to shave his father, and Chola had begged to be allowed to hold for
his father the little looking-glass which the barber had brought with
him, as he reclined on a rug while the barber shaved him. The barber
made his rounds from house to house each day, carrying the tools of his
trade with him; and he not only shaved his patrons' faces, but their
heads as well.

"I only wanted to tell thee that there is a man just outside the gate
with a basket," replied Nao, in a tantalizing way; "but if thou _must_
help the barber--"

"There are plenty of men in the street with baskets," returned Chola;
but he was beginning to be interested.

"But this man carries a flute," answered his little friend, smiling.

"Oh, it is the snake-charmer!" cried Chola, jumping up.

"I see thou art tired of playing barber. Give me the mirror, and thou
mayst run away," said his father.

Out in the street the boys found the man dressed all in bright pink,
with a basket on his arm. He had seated himself down in the shade of a
tree, and a crowd of children had gathered around him.

Presently he began to whistle on a little pipe or flute. "Look,"
whispered Nao, as a snake's head pushed up the lid of the basket and
crept slowly out. Then another and another followed, until several
snakes were crawling and wriggling around in the dust, all keeping time
to the music of the flute. Soon the snakes began to climb and crawl all
over the man, winding themselves around his neck and arms to the great
delight of the children. Finally one of the snakes wound itself around
the man's neck; and one around each arm; after which the man piped them
back into their basket.

Then he spread the handkerchief on the ground, which was a sign for the
children to pay for the show. This was enough to send most of the
children flying away; for, though they had enjoyed the performance, many
of them were not willing to pay for it. Both Chola and Nao, however,
threw some _cowrie_ shells on the handkerchief before they left.

"May good luck attend thee, my little masters," said the snake-charmer
with a deep _salaam_. Then he picked up his basket again and went piping
down the street to find another audience.

"Thou hast on thy yellow dress. Hast thou been to the temple?" asked
Nao, as he and Chola came back into the garden.

"No, I wait for Mahala. Where can he be?" said Chola, running back into
the courtyard.

Mahala was there, busily washing out the inkstand which he always
carried to school, while Shriya hung out of one of the _zenana_ windows
talking to him.

"I cleaned my inkstand yesterday, oh, tardy one!" exclaimed Chola.

"Mine, too, is ready," said Mahala, giving it a final polish as he
spoke. "Now we will be off."

To-day was the great holiday for the children. It was the festival of
Sarasvati, the Hindu Goddess of Learning, who is supposed to be the
especial guardian of children.

The boys were going to the temple to lay their inkstands before the
queer image of the Goddess of Learning, as was the custom on this
holiday festival.

"Thou art not keeping the holiday," called out Nao, looking up at

"No, indeed," answered the little girl, shaking her head. "I do not want
to be a widow some day; and the grandmother says this is what would
happen if I should read books and learn to write while I'm little."

The boys laughed; and then ran out to join the crowd of little boys, who
were making their way toward the temples, all dressed in bright yellow
in honour of the day, some carrying their inkstands stuck in their
belts, others swinging them in their hands.

"What shall we do to amuse ourselves?" asked Mahala, after they had
dutifully laid their inkstands before the queer image of Sarasvati.

"I know," answered Chola. "We will find the potter and beg a bit of clay
from him. It will be fun to make some toys for ourselves."

The boys turned down a street; and there, under a big tree on the
river-bank, the potter was at work with piles of damp clay around him.
As usual, a lot of children were gathered about him. They loved to watch
him take the clay and put it on a revolving wooden wheel before him and
mould dishes and jugs and bowls of all sorts and shapes. Each
neighbourhood has a potter whose business it is to make the ware for
that village; and he does a good trade, for it is the custom among many
of the people to throw away their dishes after each meal. This of course
means that they must have new ones all the time.

"Eh! well, thou wouldst have clay for thy toys?" said the gray-bearded
old potter, when the boys explained what they wanted. "Here it is then,"
he said, good-naturedly, and gave them each a lump of the wet clay.
Carrying their treasure carefully the boys hurried back to Chola's

Shriya was there in a shady nook, swinging Chola's baby brother gently
as he lay in his cradle. His cradle was a kind of little hammock, swung
between two bamboo supports, and, as Shriya swayed it gently backward
and forward, she was singing:

    "Here is a handful of white rice,
     Here is a bit of sweet,
     Here is a tamarind ripe and nice,
     A curry for thee and me."

"The little one is fretful. He is not well; and it may be that he has a
fever, the mother fears," said Shriya, stopping her song as the boys
came up.

"I will make him a horse to play with," and Chola seated himself and
began to mould the clay as he had seen the old potter do.

"I shall make a buffalo like the sacred one that stole the sweets
yesterday," said Nao, falling to work.

"Tush! this only sticks to my fingers!" exclaimed Mahala, impatiently,
after a few minutes' work.

"Give it to me and let me try," said Shriya, eagerly.

"Thou canst take it; and a good riddance, too," and Mahala held out a
pair of dirty hands.

"There!" cried Chola, "here is thy horse, little one; but wait, I must
put a saddle on him," he said, as the baby crowed and put out his

"A horse, indeed," laughed Mahala; "it looks as much like a horse as
Nao's buffalo."

"I couldn't make the horns stick on mine," grumbled Nao.

"And thou hast forgotten thy buffalo's tail, too!" Chola laughed,

"But, look," he continued, "Shriya's are the best of all."

Shriya's nimble little fingers had indeed made the two little dolls
which she had moulded look very lifelike.

"I shall put a bit of real cloth on their heads for veils," she said.

"We will put them here in the sun to dry," said Chola, admiring his
horse as he held it up.

"Ah, and if we leave them here, perhaps 'Sir Banas' will come to the
garden to-night and make them all alive," whispered little Shriya,

The children believed that there was a strange being who came during
the night and made their dolls walk and talk as if they were alive.

Later on all the family went to the big square near by, where games were
going on; and everybody took a ride on the big "merry-go-round," which
was very much like the ones we have. Shriya's father put her up into one
of the swinging seats, all red and gold, and took his seat in another,
for the grown people were as fond of riding in a merry-go-round as the
children. The boys were already holding on tight, each in one of the
funny little swings; and away they went, the long ends of their turbans
flying behind them, until they were too dizzy to see. But this is the
fun of a merry-go-round the world over. Then they went home merrily in
the warm, dusky twilight, very happy, with their hands and mouths sticky
with sweetmeats.

One evening, not long after this, as Chola and Mahala came home from
school, Shriya met them at the garden gate with a very solemn face.

"See," she whispered to Chola, "the priest from the temple sits there
talking with thy father. He says the only way to make thy little brother
well is to take him to Benares, that he may be bathed in the holy

All the family were gathered under the big tamarisk-tree that stood in
the centre of the garden. It was their custom to spread mats on the
brick pavement under the tree and sit there after the evening meal, the
men smoking their big _hookahs_, while the women, with their faces
tightly wrapped in long veils, sat a little back of them gossiping
together. As the children slipped into their places, everybody was
earnestly watching the old Brahmin priest who sat there, too, looking
very fine in his pink turban and red brocaded silk gown; and also
looking very wise as he drew various sorts of curious lines in the dust
about him. When he had finished he looked up and said:

"It is indeed the will of the gods that the little one be taken to the
sacred city."

The Ganges is the most important river in India, and the Hindus know it
as the "Sacred River." They think that their sins will be washed away
and that they will be cured of all illness if they will but bathe in its
waters and drink of them.

"It is well said," answered Harajar Chumjeree, after a long pause. "We
will make the pilgrimage and bathe in the waters of the holy river; thus
will the child be made well and we shall achieve merit."

Chola's baby brother had not been well for some weeks. His mother and
grandmother had given him many bitter drinks made from various healing
herbs until he cried and would take no more of the nasty things, just as
children in our country cry over their medicine. His mother even
dressed him in girl's clothes, and then charms were brought from the
temple written on pieces of paper, and Lalla, the baby's mother, soaked
the ink off the bits of paper in water which she gave the baby to drink.
Even this did not make him fat and rosy. So it was this evening that
they came to decide to make the pilgrimage.

"But first," went on the wise old priest, "there must be made an
offering of money and a white calf to the gods of the temple." This
would ensure their making the pilgrimage safely. The Brahmins are very
cunning, however, for they live within the temple and get the benefits
of the offerings which are sent there.

"Ah, truly, the white calf is not forgotten," muttered the old
grandmother behind her veil, but loud enough to be heard. She liked to
doctor her grandchildren herself; and was rather jealous of the supposed
effects of the Brahmin's paper charms. She and the priest had many hot
words as to which of their remedies was the best.

"Peace!" said her son; "it is right to obey the gods."

"Shall we go in the 'fire-wagons,' father?" whispered Chola. He thought
the "fire-wagons," as they called the railway trains, were the most
wonderful and terrible things in the world.

"I like not this flying over the ground with a great noise," answered
his father. "But it will take us quickly and at less cost than if we
travelled by road."

"Indeed I shall not ride in those 'devil-wagons!'" cried the
grandmother, "nor shall the son of my son" (meaning her grandson). "Do
you wish him to die before he can bathe in the holy river?"

"In my young days there were none of these fire-spitting things rushing
all over our country," she continued, throwing back her veil in her
excitement; "people were content to ride in their wagons and

Harajar Chumjeree was easy-going, and the mother cared only to start as
soon as might be; so the old lady had her own way, and it was settled
that they should travel in the big, slow-moving ox-wagon, while she
should be carried in her own special palanquin.



THE next day everybody in the house began to make preparations for the
journey. Not that they hurried about it as we do. No, indeed! Everything
was done very leisurely, though there was a lot of talking and disputing
and the giving of contrary orders. At last, however, the great "_ruth
wagon_" drawn by oxen, was ready in the courtyard. It was a heavy and
ungainly vehicle with _solid_ wooden wheels and a canopy closed in with
lattice-work and curtains.

The old porter was there, directing and scolding the servants as they
piled the rugs and blankets and bags of food and pots and pans and
dishes into the wagon. Chola's father and mother had to take all these
things with them on the journey because there are no hotels at which
they might stay, only camping-places, or "_paraos_" beside the roads,
where the traveller could buy his food if need be and camp for the

It was a wonder there was any room left for the people, but they were
all finally stowed away; except Mahala's father, who was to take
Harajar's place at the shop in the Bazaar while he was away, and the
many cousins who were left behind to look after the house.

There was quite a procession when at last the big wagon rumbled out
through the gateway.

Behind it came the grandmother, in her "_dhoolie-dak_," a sort of a
litter, or easy-chair, swung between two long poles. This was carried by
two men, one in front and one behind, who rested the end of the poles
on their shoulders.

Besides the family there were many servants, and several others walked
beside the slow-moving wagon. The cook, too, went with them.

"Good-bye!" shouted little Nao from his garden wall as they went by.

"Good-bye!" called out Chola and Mahala to him, from their seats in
front beside the driver. The boys were perfectly happy to think of all
the new, strange sights they were going to see along the road. They
shouted greetings to their friend the potter as they passed him, and
also to the old "_fakir_," smeared all over with ashes, who sat in a
little brick hut by the bridge and pretended to make wonderful cures.

"This is more fun than going to school," said Chola, as the oxen plodded
along through clouds of dust. The young folks did not mind this,
however, for the road was very lively with people going into the city,
some in bullock-carts, some in big wagons like their own, and there were
many on foot carrying big baskets on their heads, while beside them
trudged little solemn-faced, dark-skinned children.

At noontime they halted for a rest near an orchard full of flowering
fruit-trees, where some beautiful peacocks were sunning themselves on
the garden walls, spreading out their great tails and strutting about.
These lovely birds are found nearly everywhere in India, and in some
parts run quite wild.

"There is a 'Holy Man,'" said Mahala, pointing to a man who was sitting
cross-legged by the roadside, with only a cloth wrapped around his
waist. His long matted hair hung on his shoulders, and he was saying his
prayers with the help of a rosary of beads which he continually passed
through his hands.

As the wagon came up, a young man who accompanied the "Holy Man" ran up
and held out a begging-bowl, saying: "Give, oh, charitable people, to
this Holy One." Chola's mother threw some cakes into the bowl as the
wagon stopped.

"We will become beggars ourselves before we reach the 'Sacred City' if
we are going to give to every beggar on the road," grumbled Harajar.
"They are as thick as flies in our country."

"It is good to give to a 'Holy Man,'" said the gentle mother. "Maybe he
will pray that our babe be made well;" and she sighed as she looked down
at the white face of the baby in her arms.

No country in the world has so many beggars as India. Many of them are
called "Holy Men" because they do nothing but make pilgrimages from one
sacred place to another, living solely on the alms that are given to

When they had eaten their lunch, the young people went to explore the
garden near them. "Perhaps there are dogs," said Mahala, a little
fearfully, but they forgot about dogs when they saw a thicket of
sugar-cane down by a stream. "Perhaps we can buy some from the man;
there he is now ploughing by the stream," said Chola.

"I will give you some of the sweet cane, my little princelings," said
the man, "if you will give a wreath of flowers to the Sacred River for
me," when he learned that the boys were on their way to Benares.

The farmer stopped his oxen in the shade,--for oxen also do all the
ploughing,--and began to cut some of the long purple stalks of cane. All
at once Mahala cried out, and pulled Chola back, and there, just at
their feet, was a pure white snake crawling out from the roots of the
cane. It flattened out its head in a most astonishing fashion when it
saw them.


"Behold! a pure white cobra," cried the farmer. "It must mean good luck
to you, my young masters. It is a rare sight now-a-days to see one of
these white cobras."

The children _salaamed_ to it very politely, though they were careful to
keep at a good distance. "It is looking for water," said the farmer, as
he took a long stalk of cane and gently guided it down to the stream.
The snake is another sacred animal of the Hindus, and they would not
kill or injure one for anything.

"It may be a sign that the babe will be healed," said the mother,
hopefully, when the children came back with their sugar-cane and told
about the wonderful cobra. As they were about to move on again, they saw
a great cloud of dust down the road. "It is an elephant and many men,"
said one of the servants. "A great ruler, doubtless," said another, as
there came into sight a man on horseback carrying a silk banner or
flag. It turned out that it _was_ a great and powerful Rajah going in
state on a journey to visit another Rajah, or ruler, of one of the small
kingdoms or states of which modern India was formerly made up. And did
he not look imposing!

First there came a big elephant, all decorated with silk and gold and
silver. On the elephant's back was a "_howdah_," which is like a big
chair with a canopy over it, and in this, sitting cross-legged, was the
Rajah,--a big, fat fellow dressed in coloured silks and jewels, with a
great diamond-set plume in his turban. The fittings of this "_howdah_"
were most luxurious. It was lined and carpeted with expensive silken
rugs, for the making of which certain _castes_ are famous. There are
many kinds of rugs in India; but those of woven silk, like the
praying-rugs of the temples, and those upon which the great Rajahs sit
in state, are the most beautiful and expensive. These rug-makers are
mostly Mohammedans, a religious sect entirely different from the Hindus.

Behind the "_howdah_" stood a servant holding a big umbrella of fine
feathers over the Rajah's head. The driver sat on the neck of the
elephant and guided the big beast by prodding him on one side or the
other with an iron-shod stick or goad.

After the Rajah, followed many men on horseback, all in fine dress and
carrying lances and banners of silk; then a whole troop of servants who
guarded the wagons filled with the Rajah's baggage and the presents he
was carrying to the other Rajah.

"Isn't it fine to ride like that on a big elephant!" whispered Mahala to
Chola, as the children picked flowers by the roadside and threw them
before the Rajah's elephant, which is a pretty way the Hindus have of
welcoming a person of importance.

"How happy the Rajah must be," said little Shriya, "to be able to ride
like that and wear such beautiful jewels!" And all the rest of the day
the little folk talked of nothing but the great Rajah and his escort.

At sunset they came to a _parao_, where they were to camp for the night.
It was only a bare piece of ground under some trees, and a few stalls or
little shops where one could buy food and fuel to make a fire.

Our party came to a halt among many other bullock-carts, the owners of
which were already sitting around on the ground cooking their suppers or
bargaining for food at the little booths. Soon, when their own pots and
pans were got out, and the dishes and the bags of rice and meal, the
cook made ready the supper.

"This is much more fun than eating at home," said Shriya, as the
children were gathering big leaves from the trees. These they used for
plates, heaping them up with their boiled rice, and curry, and fish, and
all sorts of puddings and sweets.

Meanwhile the oxen tethered close by were eating their suppers of
chopped straw. As supper was being eaten, another party stopped at the
_parao_ and camped not far away. There were many servants in the new
party, and a fine litter with gold and silk coverings. When the litter
was put down, a young boy stepped out, looking very proud and haughty.
His servants at once spread a handsome rug on the ground for him to sit
on and rushed about waiting on him, taking good care to keep every one
at a distance.

"It is a noble Brahmin boy, and he must be a little prince at the very
least," whispered Mahala to Chola in an awestruck voice. "See his rich
dresses and the airs he puts on."

"Yes, and how he orders every one about him. Nothing seems good enough
for him," replied Chola; "but he has a right to be proud, for he wears
the 'Sacred Thread' about him," he continued, looking at the little boy
with interest. Around the little Brahmin's neck was a thin cord or
thread, which was the sign of his high _caste_.

Just then a little boy from one of the wagons crept up near and
_salaamed_ before him until his head touched the ground.

"Away! do not come so near my master," cried one of the servants, and
ordered him off.

"Ha! the servant is right," said the children's grandmother, who was
sitting in her palanquin-litter enjoying the lively scene. "When I was
young like Shriya, a beggar boy like that would not have dared come so
near a noble child." The old woman frowned at the little boy, who crept
meekly back to his cart.

Meanwhile the haughty little Brahmin ate his supper, with his head
turned away so no one could see him eat, and then, growing tired of
respectful glances of the crowd around him, he got into his litter again
and the servants fastened the curtains tightly around him.

Chola and Mahala were sleepy by this time, so they just rolled
themselves up in quilts on the ground, while Shriya crept into the wagon
with her mother. Everybody slept soundly, in spite of the fact that one
of the servants was beating a drum most of the night, which they really
believed was the way to keep off evil spirits.

The first thing Chola heard when he woke up the next morning was the
cook scolding the doves, who were picking out of his meal bags while he
was getting breakfast ready.

"Oh, the thieves!" he cried. "They are as bad as the beggars."

"They are hungry," said Chola. "It would not please thee to be scolded
if thou wert hungry." Then he and Mahala amused themselves by throwing
pieces of cake to the doves who were picking up their food around the
carts, and the green paroquets which came flying out of the trees, where
they had been roosting all the night.

They did not see the little Brahmin again. The curtains of his litter
were still tightly closed when, after much shouting and running about,
the bullocks were at last yoked into the wagon and the little procession
rolled away down the dusty road long before the sun came up over the
distant groves of mango-trees.

"What art thou guarding so carefully, Shriya?" asked her brother. He and
Chola were walking beside the wagon for a change. The lattices were
raised so Shriya and her mother and aunt could enjoy the fresh air.

"They are my dolls," said the little girl, sadly, as she patted the
bundle beside her. "I take them as an offering to the holy river."

"Poor little woman! Must thou sacrifice thy toys, too?" smiled her
uncle as he patted her head.

"It is right that she should," answered her mother; for she, too, had
thrown her dolls into the sacred river when she was a child, at the
yearly festival, when the children must sacrifice their playthings to
the great river.

The boys suddenly looked gloomy, for they remembered that the day would
come only too soon when they, too, would have to destroy all their toys.
Chola wondered to himself as he walked along if he might not at least
save the little tiger, painted a bright yellow with red spots, which was
his favourite toy.

But the children could not be sad long, with so much going on about
them, and they were soon shouting and laughing to a group of children by
the roadside who were amusing themselves playing at making "graves."
They were heaping up little mounds of dust and sticking flowers in them,
which is the nearest thing little Hindu children have to "mud pies."

For several days our little party plodded along the flat, dusty road,
camping out at night at the _paraos_, until at last they drew near the
"Holy City of Benares."



ON the road to Benares they found many other people going the same way
as they themselves. There were old people, young people, children,
beggars of all kinds, priests of all faiths, sick people and well
people,--all going to the "Holy City" carrying offerings of flowers and
fruits, and all intending to bathe in the Sacred River.

Finally our party made camp just outside the city gates. Here they left
the wagon and servants and made their way through the crowded, dirty
streets until they finally came down to the banks of the river Ganges.

Such a sight as met their eyes!

"Oh!" said Chola, "all the temples in the world must be here."

"And all the people, too," said Mahala.

"And all the beggars as well," answered Harajar, as they shouldered
their way through a crowd of "_fakirs_" holding out their begging-bowls.

"Nay, speak kindly of all in the 'Holy City.' It may be that our child
will be cured," said the gentle mother, as she wrapped her veil around
the baby to keep off the hot sun.

The children stopped to stare at the hundreds of big temples of strange
shapes which stretched up and down the river back as far as they could
see. In front of these temples were terraces and long flights of steps,
called "_ghats_" leading down to the river's edge.

"We will go first to the temple to make an offering," said Chola's
father, as they walked past temple after temple full of queer, ugly


At last, after many inquiries, they found the temple that they were
looking for, and put dishes of coloured rice and flowers before a great
bronze image with four arms and two big diamonds for eyes, sitting
cross-legged just as they did themselves.

After this they went down the long steps in front of the temple to the
river's bank, and the baby was bathed in the water with much ceremony.

The children all splashed around and thought it rather good fun. The
water was cool and agreeable, and they amused themselves trying to catch
the long lines of flower wreaths which went floating by. These wreaths
of flowers are thrown into the waters of the Ganges by the pilgrims as
an offering to the waters of the "Sacred River."

Little Shriya had brought her dolls. One by one she sadly dropped them,
the brightly painted little dolls, made of clay and dressed just like
herself, into the river. At last she held in her arms only the two she
had made herself in the garden at home. They had lost most of their arms
and legs on the journey, and were sorry-looking little dolls; but Shriya
was very fond of them, and she wondered if the "Sacred River" would
really miss them if she kept them. With a sigh she decided this would be
very wrong, and so she put them, too, tenderly in the water among the
floating flowers. She then sat down on the steps and drew her veil over
her face and sighed softly, for it would be three whole months before
she could have any more dolls.

"Here are our flowers," said Chola, running down the steps with his arms
full of yellow marigolds and sweet jasmine, which he had bought from the
flower-seller who sat under one of the big umbrellas. These the children
twisted into wreaths and threw into the river. "And here is one for the
man who gave us the sugar-cane," he said, tossing a large wreath on the

"Here thou wilt see every _caste_ in India," said Harajar, as they sat
on the steps drying themselves under a big umbrella after their bath.
There were indeed thousands of people; some just getting ready to enter
the water; others slipping into their dry clothes after their bath.
There were water-carriers, carrying great jugs of the "holy water" to
sell to pilgrims to carry with them.

"Look how the smoke rolls up yonder," said Mahala. "The smoke comes from
the burning '_ghats_.' May the little one not have to be carried there,"
said his uncle, looking gloomily at the smoke curling up from the edge
of the river lower down.

"Nay, speak not of them. 'Tis an evil omen and the gods may hear thee,"
said the mother, as she held the baby closer to her.

It is the Hindu custom to burn their dead; and, in spite of bathing and
drinking the sacred water, many of the poor pilgrims do die at Benares.
Indeed, it may be that they die because they do drink it; for you can
imagine how dirty the river is with so many, many thousands of people
bathing in it all the time. For this reason certain of the "_ghats_"
along the river are set apart as places where bodies may be burned. The
bodies are laid on great piles of wood which are set on fire, the
families of the dead sitting around lamenting and wailing.

Our party camped some days outside the great gate and took many baths
and drank much water. When they finally got home again, everybody was
very happy, for the baby was really much better.

"We did well to go," said Chola's father, as he looked at the baby
growing fat and well again.

"I think the white cobra helped to bring us good luck, too," Chola
said, confidentially to Mahala.

Then word came from the boys' Uncle Achmed that he was coming to the
city to take a new elephant back home with him, and that they might go
back with him for a visit.

Little Shriya soon forgot to grieve for her lost dolls, for now the
grand preparations for her wedding began. It is the custom for our
little Hindu cousins to marry very young. But this is only a ceremony.
As little Shriya was only nine years old, she would still stay at home
and play with her toys until she was grown up, when she would go and
live in her husband's family.

If, meanwhile, her boy husband should die and leave her a widow, she
would have to go into mourning for him all her life and never marry
again. She would have to shave her head and never wear any more pretty,
bright dresses or jewels, and only eat one meal a day. Then, too,
everybody would have as little to do with her as possible; for even to
_see_ a widow is thought to be bad luck. You see that some of the Hindu
customs are very unjust to the little Hindu girls. So it was no wonder
that Shriya did not want to keep the festival of the Goddess of
Learning, for fear it might cause her to be a widow some day.

On the day of the wedding, Shriya stood in the middle of the big room of
the _zenana_, being dressed for the grand ceremony. How happy and
excited she was! To-day, for the first time in her life, she was the
most important person in the family. She had been bathed with sweet
perfumes, and her mother had put all kinds of powders on her face and
painted her eyebrows.

"Oh, mother, is it not lovely?" cried the little girl gleefully, as the
mother draped a scarf of pale blue silk all shining with gold over her
beautiful dress of pink silk.

"Now thou wilt indeed look like a little princess," said the
grandmother, as she put a wonderful jewelled head-dress which she had
worn at her own wedding on Shriya's head. It was of gold set with many
jewels, and little Shriya gave a sigh of pleasure and joyfully clapped
her hands when her mother held up a small mirror that she might see

The grandmother decked her out with many other kinds of jewelled
ornaments, long earrings that hung down to her shoulders, beautiful
pearls, and a gold collar around her neck. Then she put on bracelet
after bracelet of gold and silver until her arms were almost covered
from shoulder to wrist, and she had to hold them stiff like a doll. And
her fingers were so covered with rings that she could hardly move them
at all. Last of all the grandmother threw over her a long veil of silk
tissue, spangled with gold.

What would you think of a little girl dressed in all these beautiful
things and being barefooted? Shriya would much rather have rings on her
toes than shoes and stockings. She _did_ have rings on her toes, too,
and silver bands on her ankles as well.

The last thing the grandmother did was to hang wreaths of jasmine
flowers all over her. It was no wonder that she had to be pushed along
by some one! She could not possibly have walked by herself.

How pleased little Shriya was! Everybody was admiring her and giving her
good wishes. The boys were quite jealous, for they felt that every one
was paying more attention to a girl than to either of them.

"Next year I shall be married, too," said Chola, trying to console


But just then some one called out that the bridegroom was coming, and
all the children ran out to meet him. The little bridegroom rode a
spirited pony, and looked as fine as a little Rajah in his white silk
dress with golden flowers embroidered all over it, and in front of his
turban a handsome jewelled ornament. He had shoes on, and around his
neck were chains of jewels and precious stones. Behind him came a long
procession of relatives and friends. When he got to the door, all the
little girls, Shriya's little friends, surrounded him and led him into
the courtyard. Chola and Mahala were very busy running around giving
each guest a wreath of jasmine to hang around their necks, and a wand of
sandalwood, which was lighted like a candle and gave off a sweet perfume
as it burned.

A beautiful arbour of flowers had been put up in the inner courtyard,
under which the bride and groom sat side by side.

The old Brahmin priest was there, of course, to perform the marriage
ceremony. He made a _salaam_ to the north and south and the east and the
west, a sign of politeness to the "good spirits" who were supposed to
be present; and, after many long prayers, the grandmother put a silver
cord around the bride's neck, after which the guests threw handfuls of
rice which they took from a great copper bowl before the bridal couple.

Just as all the little girls were marching around the courtyard after
the ceremony, followed by the bride and groom, what should naughty Jam,
the pet monkey, do but snatch some of the rice out of the bowl, and rush
with it to the roof, where he sat chattering and throwing it down on the
heads of the guests. This greatly amused the children; but the old
Brahmin was very angry. So Chola had to pretend to scold the little

"Thou shalt come down and taste the bamboo rod, naughty one!" he cried,
looking up at his pet. But Jam only chattered the harder and threw more
rice and made up his mind to stay where he was.

"'Tis a good saying of ours--'Never trust a boy or a monkey.' Eh,
Chola?" said his Uncle Achmed, who had just got there in time for the
wedding, laughing.

But Jam was quite forgotten when a great beating of drums was heard
outside and in came the dancing-girls and the musicians.

All the company then sat around the court and watched the
_nautch-girls_, as they are called, dance. They never thought of dancing
themselves, deeming it too much work. All the time the musicians were
beating their drums and playing on the funniest sorts of instruments
imaginable, like queer-shaped mandolins and zithers; and it was more
like a screechy noise than like music--just a monotonous singsong chant.

But this was not the end of the gaieties. There were many dinners to be
given. So the cook-room was in a perfect hubbub, and you may believe
that the grandmother was making everybody fly around. But she found
time to scold the crowd of beggars who were hanging around the doors
however, though at the same time she saw to it that they got the scraps
that were left.

"It is well to be good to the poor at all times," she said.

"Ah, but this is the best thing of all!" exclaimed Chola to Mahala, as
he and his cousin and Nao sat side by side on a mat in the pretty garden
that evening and saw the wonderful fireworks. There were queer animals
and birds, all made up with coloured lamps and fires; and all through
the trees were hung lanterns, made of big yellow gourds with coloured
lights inside them. All the while the musicians thumped on their drums,
and everybody was very gay and merry.



"TO-DAY I must take the young elephants home," said Uncle Achmed, when
the wedding festivities were over. "Are the two little princelings ready
to go with me?" he continued, smiling at his two little nephews.

"Indeed we are," exclaimed the two boys, wild with delight, though they
did not whoop or jump about as boys probably would do elsewhere. Little
Hindu children don't make much noise at any time. It would be thought
strange because it would be bad manners to do so; indeed a Hindu very
seldom even laughs loudly.

But there was nothing that Chola and Mahala really liked better than to
go to their uncle's house and see the big elephants at work. Uncle
Achmed had a big lumber-yard on the banks of the Ganges, and used many
elephants to move about and pile up the great logs of teak-wood.
Wouldn't little boys in America think it a lot of fun if they could go
out into the country and see, instead of horses, a lot of elephants at
work? Well, that is just what a little Hindu boy can do, for elephants
are almost as plentiful as horses in India; and they use them for many
kinds of work where we use horses or machinery.

"I have brought the old elephant with me; he is wise and will be able to
show the others the way home; and, also, he will tell them how to
behave," said Achmed, as he and the two boys made their way to the
_serai_, the camping-place of the elephants outside the city gate.

Here were lots and lots of great gray elephants, swinging their long
trunks from side to side as they swayed and stamped around, while their
owners and drivers shouted and disputed together.

The two young elephants were hobbled in one corner, swaying to and fro
and swinging their trunks in rather a wicked way. Near by was Uncle
Achmed's old elephant, swinging his trunk at the two young ones as much
as to say: "There are a great many things for you youngsters to learn
yet, and I'm going to teach you."

The driver touched the old elephant with his stick and the great beast
slowly knelt down. Achmed and the boys then climbed into the _howdah_,
and the great big elephant marched off with much dignity.

"Look, the little elephants do not like the road," said Chola, pointing
to the new elephants, who would not budge. A little prodding from the
driver's sharp stick, however, made them change their minds quickly;
and they meekly followed the old elephant.

"Thou art like two little Rajahs now," said Uncle Achmed, with a smile
as he squatted in the _howdah_ beside them and took out his "_betel_"
box. It was a beautiful little silver box, all inlaid with enamel and
precious stones. Inside were three compartments which held _betel_ nuts,
lime, and spices. He took a pinch of all three of these and began to
chew the _pan_, as the mixture is called.

The boys had a very good time. They would call down to the children
walking along the dusty road and twit them for not being able to ride in
state as they were doing, just as children do the world over. Everybody
gave them the road, or, rather, the big elephants took it as a matter of
course. The old elephant took all kinds of liberties with the
passers-by, evidently just for the fun of the thing. He would give a
fellow trudging along a nudge on the back with the end of his trunk,
which would nearly scare the fellow to death; or he would sneeze, as it
were, into a lazy beggar's face, which would make the "Holy Man" very
angry indeed. Once he deliberately took a nice ripe melon out of a cart
and ate it, while its owner, who was fast asleep, never missed it.

"He is a wise one," said Uncle Achmed, "but what is the matter there?"
he cried, looking back. The matter was that a wedding procession had
just come out of a side road. The bride was in a litter covered with gay
curtains and gold embroideries, and the bridegroom was riding a white
horse which was all decked with flowers, and had his mane and tail dyed

With all this splendour there was much beating of drums and music from
other noisy instruments. One of the new elephants had taken a great
fright and backed up against the bride's litter. This had made the
bridegroom's horse rear up and nearly upset him on the dusty road. The
poor little bride screamed, and the crowd of relations and friends
abused the elephant and all his family and kindred back through many
generations, several hundreds of years, which is the true Hindu fashion
of showing one's anger.

The drivers prodded and punched, but the young elephant would not move.
Then old Ranji, the wise old elephant, wheeled around and went up to the
naughty and obstinate youngster and gave his trunk such a twist that he
squealed out in pain. Then Ranji gave him a push out into the middle of
the road again, and after this kept the young one right in front of him.
He was so scared that he scarcely dared to swing his trunk from side to
side again; and all went smoothly until they lumbered into the great
courtyard of Achmed's house, which sat in the midst of a wide expanse
of rice-fields.

As they climbed down out of the "_howdah_," the head servant made a
"_salaam_," or bow, before the master until his forehead touched the
ground, which is a way of being very polite. He then told Achmed that
the Colonel _Sahib_ and the little _Sahib_ had done him the honour of
coming to see him, and were even now sitting in the garden awaiting his
coming. All Englishmen in India are called _Sahib_ and English women are
called _Mem-sahib_.

Achmed found the Colonel sitting on a bed under a big tree in the
garden. This bed the head servant had brought from the house for him to
sit on, for this is one of the forms of politeness shown to English
visitors at a Hindu home.

Just then the "little _Sahib_" ran up to see the elephants; and, who
should he be, but the little boy who had lost his way in the Bazaar.

"Look, it is the little _Sahib_ I talked with," exclaimed Chola to

"Hello!" said Harry, holding out his hand. "Oh, I forgot you folk never
shake hands," he continued. "Isn't it funny to think I should see you
again? But this isn't the same boy who was with you before," he
continued, turning to Mahala.

The boys were delighted to see each other again, and soon were talking
away as if they had always known one another, though sometimes it was
hard for them to understand, and they made many funny mistakes.

Harry thought the big elephants were wonderful beasts, and wanted to see
them at work; so the boys took him down to the river where the elephants
were piling up the teak. An elephant picks up one end of a log with his
trunk and lays that on the pile; then he takes hold of the other end
and so brings it around in place. All the while his driver sits on the
neck of the great beast, and tells him what to do by prodding him gently
with his iron-shod stick. After awhile the elephants become so well
trained that they will do their work without any guidance whatever.

Harry was amazed. He had never seen elephants at work before; but it was
an old story to the Hindu boys, and they told him how the elephants were
made to help build roads and railroads, and even carry cannon on their
backs in battle. Elephants are very intelligent, and can be trained to
do the most wonderful things.

"We will go now and see the wonderful elephant of old Yusuf," said
Chola, leading the way to the back of the house, where old Yusuf, the
head driver, lived. Here they saw the funniest sight. Yusuf's baby
grandson lay asleep on a mat in front of the door, and the old elephant
was standing by waving his trunk backwards and forwards over the baby to
keep away the flies.

How the children laughed! "That is the funniest '_ayah_' I have ever
seen," said Harry. An "_ayah_" is the name for the Indian nursemaids.

Old Yusuf now came up and showed them how the elephant would wake up the
_coolies_, or labourers, when they were sleeping in the shade, by
filling his trunk with water and squirting it over the sleeping fellows.
When he wanted his master he would go to the door of his house and knock
against it with his foot, just as a person would knock with his fist,
only a good deal harder.

"Yusuf knows, too, the language that the elephants talk together in the
jungle," whispered Chola to Harry. It really seemed as if the old man
did understand the language of the elephants, for he would speak to the
elephant with strange sounds, and the beast would follow him about like
a dog. "He has taught me to speak some of the elephant talk, also,"
continued Chola, looking very knowing.

Harry told the boys that his father had come to talk with Achmed about a
tiger hunt that he and several other Englishmen, who were friends of
his, were planning. Achmed was well known as a good man to plan a hunt,
for he knew the jungle well, as the wild forests of India are called.

"Papa is going to take me on the tiger hunt, too. Won't that be fine!"
said Harry, eagerly. "Mamma was afraid at first, but I begged as hard as
I knew, and told her that if I was going to be in the Indian Survey some
day, I'd have to go through the jungle grass and wild forests, and take
measurements with all sorts of instruments and things, and that I might
as well get acquainted with the country now. Then papa laughed and said
that I ought to begin as soon as possible, and so it is all fixed.

"Why couldn't you both come, too?" Harry asked the boys. "Your uncle
could bring you. Wouldn't it be fun! Perhaps we could shoot a tiger

"Oh, I shouldn't dare to even think of attacking a tiger," gasped the
gentle little Chola. Hindus are as a rule mild, gentle folk. Perhaps
this comes from their laws, so commonly observed, which forbid them to
kill animals or eat meat.

"Perhaps you are afraid to go," said Harry.

"I have not fear, though I would not be brave enough to attempt to kill
a great tiger; but I should like to go all the same. We are brave
people, and many of our warrior _caste_ serve in the great Sahib's army,
as you know," said Chola, proudly.

"I did not mean to say that. I know you people are brave. Father often
says he never had a finer lot of soldiers than those in his Indian
regiment," replied Harry, hurriedly. He was afraid that he had hurt the
little Hindu boy's feelings.

"But perhaps you can go, Chola, if Mahala can't. Let us go now and ask
your uncle if he will take you," continued Harry.

"By all means let the boy come, Achmed. He will be a companion for you,
Harry," said the Colonel _Sahib_. "And he will help you learn
Hindustanee, too. You need help, do you not?" laughed his father.

"What will your father say if the gods of the jungle carry you off?"
asked Achmed, half-banteringly. But he could not long refuse his
favourite nephew anything that he could give him, and so it was arranged
that Achmed, with two of his best drivers, and Chola, should meet the
Colonel Sahib and his party at the big railway station in Lucknow in a
week's time. From there they would take the "fire-wagons" to a certain
small village, from which they would make their real start for the



POOR Mahala felt very badly as he stood in the big railway station and
watched Chola and the little Sahib go off in the fire-carriage. "I will
go and buy some sweetmeats," he said finally. This made him feel a
little better, for Mahala had a very "sweet tooth."

Meantime Chola and his little friend were speeding quickly through
waving rice-fields and grain-fields. This is even more fun than
travelling in the ox-wagon, thought Chola, as they rushed through town
after town and watched the trees fly past. Finally they stopped at the
village where Achmed had arranged for the elephants and the beaters to
meet them, for the real way to hunt tigers is to go after them on

The servants had packed away their belongings and camp things on top of
the two big elephants, as they expected to have to live in the jungle
for several days.

"Isn't this splendid?" exclaimed Harry, as the elephants went rocking
along through the tangled grass. He was so excited that he could not
keep still, and even Chola's mild black eyes were sparkling.

The beaters, whose business it is to beat through the long grass and
underbrush where a tiger might be hidden, were full of tales of a great
man-eating tiger that was the terror of the region, and who was in the
habit of coming boldly up to the fields and gardens, carrying off goats
and even attacking the oxen.

When they came to one of the little villages, they found the inhabitants
in a state of terror. Only the day before, the tiger had sprung on a
farmer who was ploughing his fields and carried him off in sight of the
whole village. The tracks which were seen in the mud along the banks of
a stream showed that he was a very big and powerful tiger.

Our party followed these tracks for some time, but nothing more was
discovered; and, as it was growing late, they made camp for the night.

The servants quickly put up the tents for the Sahibs and built a big
fire. They did not want a tiger to pay them a surprise visit at night;
and hungry tigers often do bold things.

"Ough! this is creepy. Just suppose a tiger should steal up behind us
now," confided Harry to Chola, as they sat around the big fire after

"It is well to have a charm; hast thou one?" asked little Chola, as he
felt for the charm which hung about his neck. He always wore a charm,
but this was one which his uncle had given him to keep off the evil
spirits of the jungle.

"No, indeed," laughed Harry. "We don't wear such things. Still, if one
does believe in charms, now is the time to have one," he added, looking
behind him rather fearfully.

It was strange and wild there in the dense forest full of unknown
dangers; and there were queer noises, and the firelight twisted up the
shadows of the men and elephants into grewsome and unsightly things.

Once in awhile a cry would come from some wild animal or bird in the
trees, and the boys would look over their shoulders and draw up closer
to the fire. But it was fun, although they felt more creepy still when
the beaters began to tell stories of wonderful hunts in which they had
taken part in the past; and the old head beater, who had come from the
south, himself, told tales of his wonderful adventures.

He told how one night he awoke and found a leopard sniffing at his head
as he lay sleeping on his veranda; and how he only saved his life by
holding his breath and pretending to be dead. A leopard will not touch a
dead person or animal. Another time he had seen the queer little
"_Todas_," a race of people who live in the Nilgiri Hills in the far
south and worship buffaloes, and say prayers while they are milking
these sacred beasts, whose temples are their dairies.

He knew, too, the wild, shy people of the jungle, who build their houses
like nests in the trees, so as to be safe from prowling wild beasts.
Once while hunting in the deep forest he had been caught in the huge
coils of a terrible boa-constrictor, one of those great snakes that can
crush an ox by winding themselves about it in great coils, or can
swallow an antelope at one mouthful. The beater was only saved from the
anger of the great snake by one of the other hunters coming up just at
the right moment and killing it.

He was a wonderful man, this old fellow with the long gray beard, as he
sat by the fire chewing his "_betel_" nut and telling his neverending

The next morning all were up at daybreak, for they wanted to get an
early start. One of the elephants had been rather ugly during the time
when the men were packing the things on his back, and he was still in a
bad temper when Harry came up with a piece of sugar for him. Instead of
putting the sugar into the elephant's mouth, Harry accidentally dropped
it on the ground. This made the elephant still more angry; and, as Harry
stooped to pick up the sugar, he lifted his great foot and would have
crushed the boy, who did not dream of the danger he was in. Suddenly
Chola saw the danger, and rushing right up under the angry elephant's
foot made those strange cries that the old head driver at his uncle's
had taught him. It was the talk of the elephants among themselves as
they roamed the jungle.

It was like magic. The big foot came down gently without touching either
of the boys, and the elephant, giving a peculiar cry, rubbed his trunk
against Chola, just as the Colonel Sahib and every one came running up
in terror, for they had seen it all and thought that the boys would
surely be crushed to death.

Chola was a great hero! You can imagine how the Colonel Sahib thanked
him; and the natives looked at him with wonder and awe.

"He is indeed one who is wise though young; for the wild animals talk
with him as with a friend," said the old head beater, as he _salaamed_
down to Chola's feet.

Harry did not say much until he and Chola were alone, and then he said:
"Chola, I _did_ think you were a bit of a coward when we were talking in
your uncle's garden; but I know now you are much braver than I, for I
would never have dared to go up like that and order about an angry


After everybody had got over their fright and were actually ready to
start, some of the beaters who had been looking around for signs of
tigers came back and said they had seen the tracks. So everything was
got ready as quickly as possible, or as quickly as Hindus can be got to
move, and the big elephants went trudging along through the underwood
until finally it was seen that the grass had been crushed down in
places, a sign that the tiger himself could not be far away. The
elephants began to show signs of fear, as they always do when a tiger is
about, and the beaters divided their forces, some of them going around
one way and the rest another, searching carefully through the tangled
grass and underbrush. All the men got their guns ready, and it was not a
minute too soon; for, suddenly, up out of the jungle, there sprang a
great yellow tiger, straight for the "_howdah_" in which the Colonel
Sahib and Harry and Chola were sitting.

With a howl of pain the tiger rolled under the elephant's feet, as a
bullet from the Colonel's gun went crashing into his brain.

"My! but he's a fine fellow! Won't his skin make a fine rug, father?"
cried Harry, in great excitement. When he was measured, the old beater
said that it was one of the biggest tigers he had ever seen. The Colonel
felt very proud of his prize.

They beat around through the bush for several days, but they came upon
no more tigers; so the party turned back again on their own tracks bound
for home.

Our two little friends were sorry to part, but Harry said that Chola
must come and see him at Simla, up in the hills, where the English folk
go when it gets too hot for them to stay in the plains and in the big
cities. There the boys would have some more "good times" at the Colonel
Sahib's _bungalow_, among the cedars, as the Englishman's country house
in India is called.

And didn't Chola have wonderful tales to tell to Mahala and Nao, as they
all sat together in the evenings under the big tree in the garden, while
Shriya played with her new dolls beside them and listened with wide-open



The most delightful and interesting accounts possible of child life in
other lands, filled with quaint sayings, doings, and adventures.

Each one vol., 12mo, decorative cover, cloth, with six or more full-page
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    =Our Little Korean Cousin=
               By H. Lee M. Pike

    =Our Little Mexican Cousin=
    By Edward C. Butler

    =Our Little Norwegian Cousin=

    =Our Little Panama Cousin=
               By H. Lee M. Pike

    =Our Little Philippine Cousin=

    =Our Little Porto Rican Cousin=

    =Our Little Russian Cousin=

    =Our Little Scotch Cousin=
              By Blanche McManus

    =Our Little Siamese Cousin=

    =Our Little Spanish Cousin=
          By Mary F. Nixon-Roulet

    =Our Little Swedish Cousin=
              By Claire M. Coburn

    =Our Little Swiss Cousin=

    =Our Little Turkish Cousin=


The Goldenrod Library contains stories which appeal alike both to
children and to their parents and guardians.

Each volume is well illustrated from drawings by competent artists,
which, together with their handsomely decorated uniform binding, showing
the goldenrod, usually considered the emblem of America, is a feature of
their manufacture.

    Each one volume, small 12mo, illustrated      _$0.35_


  =Aunt Nabby's Children.= By Frances Hodges White.
  =Child's Dream of a Star, The.= By Charles Dickens.
  =Flight of Rosy Dawn, The.= By Pauline Bradford Mackie.
  =Findelkind.= By Ouida.
  =Fairy of the Rhone, The.= By A. Comyns Carr.
  =Gatty and I.= By Frances E. Crompton.
  =Helena's Wonderworld.= By Frances Hodges White.
  =Jerry's Reward.= By Evelyn Snead Barnett.
  =La Belle Nivernaise.= By Alphonse Daudet.
  =Little King Davie.= By Nellie Hellis.
  =Little Peterkin Vandike.= By Charles Stuart Pratt.
  =Little Professor, The.= By Ida Horton Cash.
  =Peggy's Trial.= By Mary Knight Potter.
  =Prince Yellowtop.= By Kate Whiting Patch.
  =Provence Rose, A.= By Ouida.
  =Seventh Daughter, A.= By Grace Wickham Curran.
  =Sleeping Beauty, The.= By Martha Baker Dunn.
  =Small, Small Child, A.= By E. Livingston Prescott.
  =Susanne.= By Frances J. Delano.
  =Water People, The.= By Charles Lee Sleight.
  =Young Archer, The.= By Charles E. Brimblecom.


      It is the intention of the publishers that this series
      shall contain only the very highest and purest
      literature,--stories that shall not only appeal to the
      children themselves, but be appreciated by all those
      who feel with them in their joys and sorrows.

      The numerous illustrations in each book are by
      well-known artists, and each volume has a separate
      attractive cover design.

    Each 1 vol., 16mo, cloth                    $0.50


The Little Colonel. (Trade Mark)

The scene of this story is laid in Kentucky. Its heroine is a small
girl, who is known as the Little Colonel, on account of her fancied
resemblance to an old-school Southern gentleman, whose fine estate and
old family are famous in the region.

The Giant Scissors.

This is the story of Joyce and of her adventures in France. Joyce is a
great friend of the Little Colonel, and in later volumes shares with her
the delightful experiences of the "House Party" and the "Holidays."


In this volume the Little Colonel returns to us like an old friend, but
with added grace and charm. She is not, however, the central figure of
the story, that place being taken by the "two little knights."

Mildred's Inheritance.

A delightful little story of a lonely English girl who comes to America
and is befriended by a sympathetic American family who are attracted by
her beautiful speaking voice. By means of this one gift she is enabled
to help a school-girl who has temporarily lost the use of her eyes, and
thus finally her life becomes a busy, happy one.

Cicely and Other Stories for Girls.

The readers of Mrs. Johnston's charming juveniles will be glad to learn
of the issue of this volume for young people.

Aunt 'Liza's Hero and Other Stories.

A collection of six bright little stories, which will appeal to all boys
and most girls.

Big Brother.

A story of two boys. The devotion and care of Steven, himself a small
boy, for his baby brother, is the theme of the simple tale.

Ole Mammy's Torment.

"Ole Mammy's Torment" has been fitly called "a classic of Southern
life." It relates the haps and mishaps of a small negro lad, and tells
how he was led by love and kindness to a knowledge of the right.

The Story of Dago.

In this story Mrs. Johnston relates the story of Dago, a pet monkey,
owned jointly by two brothers. Dago tells his own story, and the account
of his haps and mishaps is both interesting and amusing.

The Quilt That Jack Built.

A pleasant little story of a boy's labor of love, and how it changed the
course of his life many years after it was accomplished.

Flip's Islands of Providence.

A story of a boy's life battle, his early defeat, and his final triumph,
well worth the reading.


A Little Puritan's First Christmas.

A Story of Colonial times in Boston, telling how Christmas was invented
by Betty Sewall, a typical child of the Puritans, aided by her brother

A Little Daughter of Liberty.

The author introduces this story as follows:

"One ride is memorable in the early history of the American Revolution,
the well-known ride of Paul Revere. Equally deserving of commendation is
another ride,--the ride of Anthony Severn,--which was no less historic
in its action or memorable in its consequences."

A Loyal Little Maid.

A delightful and interesting story of Revolutionary days, in which the
child heroine, Betsey Schuyler, renders important services to George

A Little Puritan Rebel.

This is an historical tale of a real girl, during the time when the
gallant Sir Harry Vane was governor of Massachusetts.

A Little Puritan Pioneer.

The scene of this story is laid in the Puritan settlement at

A Little Puritan Bound Girl.

A story of Boston in Puritan days, which is of great interest to
youthful readers.

A Little Puritan Cavalier.

The story of a "Little Puritan Cavalier" who tried with all his boyish
enthusiasm to emulate the spirit and ideals of the dead Crusaders.

A Puritan Knight Errant.

The story tells of a young lad in Colonial times who endeavored to carry
out the high ideals of the knights of olden days.

_By OUIDA_ (_Louise de la Ramée_)

A Dog of Flanders: A CHRISTMAS STORY.

Too well and favorably known to require description.

The Nurnberg Stove.

This beautiful story has never before been published at a popular price.


The Little Giant's Neighbours.

A charming nature story of a "little giant" whose neighbours were the
creatures of the field and garden.

Farmer Brown and the Birds.

A little story which teaches children that the birds are man's best

Betty of Old Mackinaw.

A charming story of child-life, appealing especially to the little
readers who like stories of "real people."

Brother Billy.

The story of Betty's brother, and some further adventures of Betty

Mother Nature's Little Ones.

Curious little sketches describing the early lifetime, or "childhood,"
of the little creatures out-of-doors.

How Christmas Came to the Mulvaneys.

A bright, lifelike little story of a family of poor children, with an
unlimited capacity for fun and mischief. The wonderful never-to-be
forgotten Christmas that came to them is the climax of a series of
exciting incidents.


The Little Lame Prince.

A delightful story of a little boy who has many adventures by means of
the magic gifts of his fairy godmother.

Adventures of a Brownie.

The story of a household elf who torments the cook and gardener, but is
a constant joy and delight to the children who love and trust him.

His Little Mother.

Miss Mulock's short stories for children are a constant source of
delight to them, and "His Little Mother," in this new and attractive
dress, will be welcomed by hosts of youthful readers.

Little Sunshine's Holiday.

An attractive story of a summer outing. "Little Sunshine" is another of
those beautiful child-characters for which Miss Mulock is so justly


For His Country.

A sweet and graceful story of a little boy who loved his country;
written with that charm which has endeared Miss Saunders to hosts of

Nita, the Story of an Irish Setter.

In this touching little book, Miss Saunders shows how dear to her heart
are all of God's dumb creatures.

Alpatok, the Story of an Eskimo Dog.

Alpatok, an Eskimo dog from the far north, was stolen from his master
and left to starve in a strange city, but was befriended and cared for,
until he was able to return to his owner.


The Farrier's Dog and His Fellow.

This story, written by the gifted young Southern woman, will appeal to
all that is best in the natures of the many admirers of her graceful and
piquant style.

The Fortunes of the Fellow.

Those who read and enjoyed the pathos and charm of "The Farrier's Dog
and His Fellow" will welcome the further account of the adventures of
Baydaw and the Fellow at the home of the kindly smith.

The Best of Friends.

This continues the experiences of the Farrier's dog and his Fellow,
written in Miss Dromgoole's well-known charming style.

Down in Dixie.

A fascinating story for boys and girls, of a family of Alabama children
who move to Florida and grow up in the South.


Loyalty Island.

An account of the adventures of four children and their pet dog on an
island, and how they cleared their brother from the suspicion of

Theodore and Theodora.

This is a story of the exploits and mishaps of two mischievous twins,
and continues the adventures of the interesting group of children in
"Loyalty Island."


The Cruise of the Yacht Dido.

The story of two boys who turned their yacht into a fishing boat to earn
money to pay for a college course, and of their adventures while
exploring in search of hidden treasure.

The Young Acadian.

The story of a young lad of Acadia who rescued a little English girl
from the hands of savages.

    The Lord of the Air.

    The King of the Mamozekel.

    The Watchers of the Camp-fire.

    The Haunter of the Pine Gloom.

    The Return to the Trails.

    The Little People of the Sycamore.


The Great Scoop.


A capital tale of newspaper life in a big city, and of a bright,
enterprising, likable youngster employed thereon.

John Whopper.

The late Bishop Clark's popular story of the boy who fell through the
earth and came out in China, with a new introduction by Bishop Potter.

The Dole Twins.


The adventures of two little people who tried to earn money to buy
crutches for a lame aunt. An excellent description of child-life about
1812, which will greatly interest and amuse the children of to-day,
whose life is widely different.

Larry Hudson's Ambition.

_By JAMES OTIS_, author of "Toby Tyler," etc.

Larry Hudson is a typical American boy, whose hard work and enterprise
gain him his ambition,--an education and a start in the world.

The Little Christmas Shoe.


A touching story of Yule-tide.

Wee Dorothy.


A story of two orphan children, the tender devotion of the eldest, a
boy, for his sister being its theme and setting. With a bit of sadness
at the beginning, the story is otherwise bright and sunny, and
altogether wholesome in every way.

      The King of the Golden River: A LEGEND OF STIRIA. _By

Written fifty years or more ago, and not originally intended for
publication, this little fairy-tale soon became known and made a place
for itself.

A Child's Garden of Verses.


Mr. Stevenson's little volume is too well known to need description.



(Trade Mark)


Each 1 vol., large 12mo, cloth decorative, per vol. $1.50

    =The Little Colonel Stories.=
        (Trade Mark)


Being three "Little Colonel" stories in the Cosy Corner Series, "The
Little Colonel," "Two Little Knights of Kentucky," and "The Giant
Scissors," put into a single volume.

    =The Little Colonel's House Party.=
        (Trade Mark)

Illustrated by Louis Meynell.

    =The Little Colonel's Holidays.=
        (Trade Mark)

Illustrated by L. J. Bridgman.

    =The Little Colonel's Hero.=
        (Trade Mark)

Illustrated by E. B. Barry.

    =The Little Colonel at Boarding School.=
        (Trade Mark)

Illustrated by E. B. Barry.

    =The Little Colonel in Arizona.=
        (Trade Mark)

Illustrated by E. B. Barry.

    =The Little Colonel's Christmas Vacation.=
        (Trade Mark)

Illustrated by E. B. Barry.

    =The Little Colonel, Maid of Honour.=
        (Trade Mark)

Illustrated by E. B. Barry.

    =The Little Colonel.=
            (Trade Mark)

    =Two Little Knights of Kentucky.=

    =The Giant Scissors.=

    =Big Brother.=

Special Holiday Editions

    Each one volume, cloth decorative, small quarto,    $1.25.

New plates, handsomely illustrated, with eight full-page drawings in

"The books are as satisfactory to the small girls, who find them
adorable, as for the mothers and librarians, who delight in their
influence."--_Christian Register._

    These four volumes, boxed as a four volume set    $5.00

   =In the Desert of Waiting=: THE LEGEND OF CAMELBACK

   =The Three Weavers=: A FAIRY TALE FOR FATHERS AND

   =Keeping Tryst.=

   =The Legend of the Bleeding Heart.=

    Each one volume, tall 16mo, cloth decorative   $0.50
    Paper boards                                     .35

There has been a constant demand for publication in separate form of
these four stories, which were originally included in four of the
"Little Colonel" books.

   =Joel: A Boy of Galilee.= By ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON.
      Illustrated by L. J. Bridgman.

    New illustrated edition, uniform with the Little
    Colonel Books, 1 vol., large 12mo, cloth decorative   $1.50

A story of the time of Christ, which is one of the author's best-known


    =Asa Holmes;= OR, AT THE CROSS-ROADS. A sketch of
      Country Life and Country Humor. By ANNIE FELLOWS
      JOHNSTON. With a frontispiece by Ernest Fosbery.

    Large 16mo, cloth, gilt top    $1.00

"'Asa Holmes; or, At the Cross-Roads' is the most delightful, most
sympathetic and wholesome book that has been published in a long
while."--_Boston Times._


    Square 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated    $1.50

Here is a book which will grip and enthuse every boy reader. It is the
story of a party of typical American lads, courageous, alert, and
athletic, who spend a summer camping on an island off the Maine coast.

"The best boys' book since 'Tom Sawyer.'"--_San Francisco Examiner._

    =The Rival Campers Afloat;= OR, THE PRIZE YACHT VIKING.

    Square 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated   $1.50

This book is a continuation of the adventures of "The Rival Campers" on
their prize yacht _Viking_. An accidental collision results in a series
of exciting adventures, culminating in a mysterious chase, the loss of
their prize yacht, and its recapture by means of their old yacht,

    =The Rival Campers Ashore.= By RUEL PERLEY SMITH, author
      of "The Rival Campers," "The Rival Campers Afloat,"

    Square 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated    $1.50

"The Rival Campers Ashore" deals with the adventures of the campers and
their friends in and around the town of Benton. Mr. Smith introduces a
new character,--a girl,--who shows them the way to an old mill, around
which the mystery of the story revolves. The girl is an admirable
acquisition, proving as daring and resourceful as the campers

   =The Young Section-Hand=; OR, THE ADVENTURES OF ALLAN
      WEST. By BURTON E. STEVENSON, author of "The Marathon
      Mystery," etc.

    Square 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated by L. J. Bridgman     $1.50

Mr. Stevenson's hero is a manly lad of sixteen, who is given a chance as
a section-hand on a big Western railroad, and whose experiences are as
real as they are thrilling.

   =The Young Train Dispatcher.= By BURTON E. STEVENSON,
      author of "The Young Section-hand," etc.

    Square 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated    $1.50

The young hero has many chances to prove his manliness and courage in
the exciting adventures which befall him in the discharge of his duty.

   =Captain Jack Lorimer.= By WINN STANDISH.

    Square 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated by A. B. Shute     $1.50

Jack is a fine example of the all-around American high-school boy. He
has the sturdy qualities boys admire, and his fondness for clean, honest
sport of all kinds will strike a chord of sympathy among athletic

   =Jack Lorimer's Champions=; or, Sports on Land and
      Lake. By WINN STANDISH, author of "Captain Jack
      Lorimer," etc.

    Square 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated    $1.50

All boys and girls who take an interest in school athletics will wish to
read of the exploits of the Millvale High School students, under the
leadership of Captain Jack Lorimer.

Captain Jack's Champions play quite as good ball as do some of the teams
on the large leagues, and they put all opponents to good hard work in
other summer sports.

Jack Lorimer and his friends stand out as the finest examples of
all-round American high school boys and girls.

       *       *       *       *       *

Transcriber's Notes:

Obvious punctuation errors repaired.

Ad pages in back, the author for A Child's Garden of Verses by Robert
Louis Stephenson is listed on the original ad page as: L. R. Stephenson.
This was corrected to R. L. Stephenson.

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