fuse and very hardy where there are tiny feet that wander from the path. Our days were so full, that before we even realised it we were “old-timers” our youth had passed us by and our children were growing up around us, no longer little tots, but tall strapping youngsters, and we hadn't even had time for a honeymoon! Well it's been real honest-to-goodness work, and though we didn't what you'd call “plan ahead”, nor make adequate preparation for our marriage, nor worry overmuch about all this “marry for love” stuff, yet we learned to accept one another at face value, and we have endeavoured to bring our children up to be good citizens, to “do unto others as you would they should do unto you”, and to love and obey their Master, and we know that it is on these principles that “a home is made.”

THE BURIAL by ROWLEY HABIB It stopped raining in the morning but a mist still lay about the ground and trees. The people were standing in the small yard between the verandah and the hedge. Their breaths clouding for it was a fresh morning. Some were shuffling the stones with their toes and talking quietly. Others were just standing waiting. Every one looked fresh and clean. The children were on the verandah in a little group. Kurram was holding the railings and resting his face against the sharp cold wood, and now and then he would look up as one of the adults brought out a handkerchief and shook it. And he would watch to see if they were crying. His Auntie Mary had been crying and a lot of the