tiful wide gesture of protection and tenderness, which seemed to enfold the beloved burde like a great wing, she swept her long veil round her dead, and rocked softly to and fro for many moments. Not a cry or a groan escaped her until she bent her head and began to kiss the Thing that lay on her breast, with shuddering sighs and tearless sobs and foolish, fond words: 'O my Strong One! O my Master! My Camel! My Beloved!' And soon, the rising tide of emotion overwhelming speech, she fell to unspoken endearments: low moans and wordless murmurs, the inarticulate language of passion.

There is something so impressive in the direct manifestation of an overmastering feeling that the three men, flat on the sand as they were, instinctively uncovered their heads. Private Parkins, sadly bejuggled by camp-gossip, turned bewildered blue eyes on his superior officers. The Doctor felt it necessary to explain the obvious.

'She's been coming here night after night to look for him, and when she found him she hid him from the crows and the jackals under those others. She's come now to bury him — and we are going to help her.'

'Hush!' warned Captain Egerton, 'she's quiet again.' For Yasmin had laid the dead man's head on her knees, and with raised arms and uplifted face sat motionless, evoking blurred memories of a Mater Dolorosa darkly seen behind flaming altar-tapers, or of those mourning Egyptian goddesses who glance into vision under the glare of the tourists' torches in the dusky depths of some temple shrine, and to whom the Aryan Madonna with her sorrows is but a newcomer. One moment Yasmin sat, as if in dumb appeal to an unresponsive heaven, before she sent her voice quavering down the wind in that lamentation for the dead which once heard remains in the memory. It is as

if the intolerable anguish of parting had acquired utterance in the longdrawn, high-pitched, poignant tremolo, which assaults the nerves even when it does not strike at the heart; as if the desolation of all bereavements had been pressed down and distilled into one bitterest essence; as if grief for the one irremediable human ill had found tongue. It is the oldest as well as the saddest of threnodies. It was ancient when the First Born were smitten; venerable when Isis and Nephthys shrilled it over the murdered Osiris; and for all we know, it echoed through the waterways of the lacustrine towns, and reverberated in the dark caverns that were nightly barricaded against the cave-tiger.

The long, plaintive cry swelled, wavered, sank, ending abruptly in a deep note, and the mourner, rising, unfastened her veil, laid it carefully over the dead, and began to dig his grave.

'It's our cue now,' whispered the Doctor.

They were close upon Yasmin before she perceived them. Quick as light she straightened her bent back, and stood on the defensive like some fierce mother-beast of the desert, her tall figure dilating, and her jewel-like eyes, which had encroached sadly on her narrowed face, seeming to emit light.

The Doctor, whose acquaintance with the vernacular was less limited than that of his companions, assumed the office of spokesman.

'O Lady,' he began, touching breast, brow, and mouth in Oriental salutation, 'we come to bury your Lord. A strong man, and a great Captain deserves a better grave than a woman's hands can make.'

The wildness of her look softened instantly; veiling her face with the wefts of her looosened hair, she resigned the shovel to the Doctor with a regal gesture. The three men worked, and

space

relieved each other at intervals, until a grave deep enough to baffle the paw of jackal or hyena was dug; then they moved away and left Yasmin alone for a little with what was once her lover; and when they returned she helped them, dry-eyed and firm-lipped, to push the sand into the pit. After it was piled up, she threw herself upon it and lay there quietly, save for the long shudders which shook her from head to foot, until the Doctor bade her return to camp with him, when she rose and followed the Englishmen like an obedient child, carefully covering her face with the shrouds of her heavy hair, and keeping a certain distance, prescribed by Moslem etiquette, from her companions.

The dauntless spirit that had cowed her would-be masters, that had steeled her against the horrors of her quest, and those phantom-terrors with which the African imagination peoples darkness and solitude, had departed. Half an hour before, she had been a highlyindividualized being, a valiant fellow creature with a desire and a will, enfranchised from the bondage of her sex by her high purpose; now she had be

The

come again an Oriental and a woman, a thing mysterious and remote. The veil which suffering had swept aside had fallen, more impenetrable than before. The chasm between the East and the West had opened once more. Doctor's questions she answered halfshyly, half-sullenly, in monosyllables; she either could not or would not explain the mystery of her hypnotic power; the sorceress had been cast out of her. At the door of her tent she kissed the hands of her escort with the dignity of an empress bestowing an accolade, and it was with noble humility that she bade her English friends farewell.

The Captain stopped, and for a time no one broke the silence that followed.

'What became of Yasmin?' finally questioned the Investigator, turning her face, gravely sweet, toward the story-teller. 'Did she die?'

I

SOME years ago it was suggested that we add the ruby-throated hummingbird to our list of domesticated animals and turn him to account in greenhouse work, in cross-pollinating flowers, and destroying troublesome insects. It did not seem a difficult task: just catch a few, find what their foods were, free them in green-houses, and let them do the rest.

Just catch a few! We were weeks in catching even one. For more than a year, at odd moments, we tried. Many methods were used: insect-nets, birdlime, a spray of water, open windows with flowers inside, and finally a trap. At last! Could it really be? I hardly dared trust my senses. Yes, it was a humming-bird squeak that came from the little bag, and the boy asked if I was the lady who would pay a dollar for a humming-bird. It must be! How had he caught it? - Under his cap! How strange! And had it a ruby throat? He was n't sure. Well, we could find that out.

Doors were closed and locked, and screens carefully placed in every window. Then the wonderful bag was cautiously opened. Way down in the bottom crouched the dear, funny little bird, with his bright eyes looking us straight in the face and his long bill pointing at a sharp angle from the wee body. Just a baby one-Would he die of fright? He did not attempt to fly out, so we tore open the side of the bag down to where he sat; but he

did not move. Then, placing my finger gently under his toes, and lifting slowly, I beheld the jewel upon my hand.

Never was a sweeter creature in the world. So beautiful with his green and golden reflections, with his whitetipped tail and trusting face! He looked about, not in the least afraid, and when a moment later we offered him a drop of honey from a finger-tip he sipped it off in apparent glee. Such a busy little white tongue! When the finger was removed farther and farther from the tongue, the tongue reached farther and farther for the honey. Then drops of water were given and accepted in the same way. After the lunch he still held tightly to the finger and, tipping his head this way and that, surveyed his new home. A whole house, but even that seemed cramped quarters for such a sprightly creature. The new perch of soft warm material suited his toes and he was in no hurry to leave. There he sat while I made a strenuous attempt to finish my supper in left-handed bliss.

When he was invited to sit on another's finger he decided to fly instead. The curtains had been drawn lest he should dash out his life in an attempt to fly through glass, but this proved an unnecessary precaution. Back and forth he flew, from one room to another, near the ceiling. When he tried to alight he had considerable difficulty, but finally got nicely perched on the curtain-pole and tucked his little toes under the soft meshes of curtain and went to sleep. We wondered whether he would tuck his head under a wing,

and what would become of the long bill; but his habit of sleep seemed to be different from other birds we had noticed, for he just tipped back his head and slept with upturned bill. When, an hour later, we returned with all the wild flowers of our immediate neighborhood, we found him still sleeping and his position unchanged.

Early the next morning I hurriedly crept down to see if he was impatient for breakfast; but he was still sitting where he had been the night before, and when I stood upon a chair and touched him he gave a sad squeak and opened his bill very wide, yawning like a waking child. Then he was still again, and I feared his toes were entangled and that he was dying. He seemed so weak and cold that I took down the pole to warm him; but there was no fire in the house and my hands were colder than he. To breathe upon him was the only hope, for he had fallen upon his side and his eyes were closed. Honey could not tempt his arrow tongue. No; he was dying. So short a life, so unnecessary a death! What could I do?

Remembering the stories of how easily humming-birds get chilled and how successfully they may be warmed to life, I kept breathing upon him. Faster and faster his wee body shook; was it the death-gasp or returning life? No; it was regular. Nearly an hour passed and he still lived; his health was improving, it seemed. Little eyes opened for a moment; he sat upon his feet; yes, he was surely getting stronger. But what would become of him during the next two hours while I was away from the house?

We decided to arrange a sitting-room for him; so two strawberry baskets were tied together, and in the lower one a carpet of clover blossoms was placed. While I arranged this new home he was taken into bed and kept in warm hands, which revived him so that he

though without at

tried his wings, tempting to fly away, just to see if they would work. Then he was put in his basket for safe-keeping, and this was surrounded by warm bed-clothes.

When I returned two hours later, he was in prime condition, had had an early lunch, and was flutteringly impatient for breakfast.

The box was opened, and he crept out upon my hands and was placed upon a wild rosebud in the centre of the table; and he sat there contentedly enough, looking about and sipping honey whenever a sweetened finger was presented to him. Just before we had finished he decided to have a bit of exercise, and leaving his wild-rose parlor, he flew and flew but not high as he had the night before. This time he alighted on objects much lower-on the backs of chairs, on the frame above the hanging lamp, once upon a plate, where he struggled awkwardly like a boy on skates for the first time. He was far too apt a pupil not to learn where it was best to alight. Over the back of one chair we placed a Japanese napkin so he could hold on better, and he discovered the fact at once and never lighted again on any of the other dining-room chairs. The bunch of roses interested him greatly, and he made frequent hovering visits to them, getting his bill covered with pollen. Next, he flew upon my sister's back as she bent over the table, and made haste to clean his bill on her big apron. He flew round and round the rooms, but never dashed at a window, though the curtains were left well up. Several times, however, he tried to find out what eyes were made of, and we had to close them for protection.

Of all the flowers he seemed to like the evening primrose best, and hurried to probe each new one we presented. Red clovers he tried, but found rather unsatisfactory; dog-bane seemed to

please him, and blue-bells, sweet peas, and red lilies. We hoped that if we brought them in straight from the garden he might find tiny insects to keep him well and strong. Water and honey he had found plentifully on our fingers, and he came to believe that honey grew on skin as nectar does in blossoms, and he followed us all about, licking our faces or hands whenever he could get near enough. In the kitchen he was charmed by a big tin-can with a gorgeous red and green label. It was standing on the stove, and after trying in vain to find its nectar glands, he alighted beside it on the stove, which fortunately was cool enough, so that he was not injured.

We noticed that his wings, when he alighted, instead of being placed close to his body, drooped by his side, half outspread, as if he were prepared to dart away at any moment. Another peculiarity was his apparent inability to light while suspended buzzingly over flowers or a drop of honey. We would raise a hand beneath his little body, hoping that he would settle down upon it; but instead he would draw his tightly-curled toes closer and hang himself higher in the air — higher and higher, until he seemed to stand on his head above the flower. After several trials he learned to light when a hand was presented. At first we brought this about by having one hand over him as the other rose toward him; and he did not appear frightened in the least, simply stopped his wings and was at rest in a moment, but continued busily probing the flowers.

The greatest difficulty we had with him was in getting him to leave a finger after he had settled upon it. If he chose to rest we could not coax him off; he would nap contentedly while we carried him all about.

A large net-house had been erected for him in one corner of the room so he

need not be confined in a basket while we were away from the house, and there he spent an hour or more the latter part of the morning. Later, he had a little fly about and more honey, water, and a flower-visit; then he seemed tired and fell asleep. He was put back in his net-house to finish his nap, and a little later I found him dead.

Was it a murder, or may the accidental and unexplainable death be forgiven? Is my study destined to destroy humming-bird happiness? or may it by careful methods finally increase the ruby-throat species and add greater happiness to them and those who love them?

II

My humming-birds visited cannas, salvias, fuchsias, trumpet creepers, petunias, larkspurs, morning-glories, verbenas, weigelias, evening primroses, the cypress vine, red clover, blueberry blossoms, Missouri currants, altheas, jewel-weed, fire-weed, and red milkweed, red field lilies, sweet peas, mignonette, phlox, orange sweet-william, lilacs, hybiscus, coral honeysuckles, lantanas, columbines, scarlet-runner beans, coral closed clematis, butterand-eggs, and various other wild and garden flowers.

It is evidently color which attracts the birds rather than odor, for they have been known to probe the artificial flowers on ladies' hats, to fly to bright ribbons or pictures of flowers.

The birds seemed to have individual tastes, some preferring one flower, some another. The general favorites. appear to be cannas, salvias, trumpetvines, and honeysuckles. If these are in bloom it is useless to spend much time waiting for visitors among the other flowers. The honeysuckle vine will be visited perhaps ten times as often as the hollyhocks and lilies.