HOW THE ALPHABET WAS MADE

THE week after Taffimai Metallumai (we will still call her Taffy, Best Beloved) made that little mistake about her Daddy’s spear and the Stranger-man and the picture-letter and all, she went carp-fishing again with her Daddy. Her Mummy wanted her to stay at home and help hang up hides to dry on the big drying-poles outside their Neolithic Cave, but Taffy slipped away down to her Daddy quite early, and they fished. Presently she began to giggle, and her Daddy said, ‘Don’t be silly, child.’

‘But wasn’t it inciting!’ said Taffy. ‘Don’t you remember how the Head Chief puffed out his cheeks, and how funny the nice Stranger-man looked with the mud in his hair?’

‘Well do I,’ said Tegumai. ‘I had to pay two deerskins—soft ones with fringes—to the Stranger-man for the things we did to him.’

‘We didn’t do anything,’ said Taffy. ‘It was Mummy and the other Neolithic ladies—and the mud.’

‘We won’t talk about that,’ said her Daddy, ‘Let’s have lunch.’

Taffy took a marrow-bone and sat mousy-quiet for ten whole minutes, while her Daddy scratched on pieces of birch-bark with a shark’s tooth. Then she said, ‘Daddy, I’ve thinked of a secret surprise. You make a noise—any sort of noise.’

‘Ah!’ said Tegumai. ‘Will that do to begin with?’

‘Yes,’ said Taffy. ‘You look just like a carp-fish with its mouth open. Say it again, please.’

‘Ah! ah! ah!’ said her Daddy. ‘Don’t be rude, my daughter.’

‘I’m not meaning rude, really and truly,’ said Taffy. ‘It’s part of my secret-surprise-think. Do say ah, Daddy, and keep your mouth open at the end, and lend me that tooth. I’m going to draw a carp-fish’s mouth wide-open.’

‘What for?’ said her Daddy.

‘Don’t you see?’ said Taffy, scratching away on the bark. ‘That will be our little secret s’prise. When I draw a carp-fish with his mouth open in the smoke at the back of our Cave—if Mummy doesn’t mind—it will remind you of that ah-noise. Then we can play that it was me jumped out of the dark and s’prised you with that noise—same as I did in the beaver-swamp last winter.’

‘Really?’ said her Daddy, in the voice that grown-ups use when they are truly attending. ‘Go on, Taffy.’

‘Oh bother!’ she said. ‘I can’t draw all of a carp-fish, but I can draw something that means a carp-fish’s mouth. Don’t you know how they stand on their heads rooting in the mud? Well, here’s a pretence carp-fish (we can play that the rest of him is drawn). Here’s just his mouth, and that means ah.’ And she drew this. (1.)

‘That’s not bad,’ said Tegumai, and scratched on his own piece of bark for himself; but you’ve forgotten the feeler that hangs across his mouth.’

‘But I can’t draw, Daddy.’

‘You needn’t draw anything of him except just the opening of his mouth and the feeler across. Then we’ll know he’s a carp-fish, ‘cause the perches and trouts haven’t got feelers. Look here, Taffy.’ And he drew this. (2.)

‘Now I’ll copy it.’ said Taffy. ‘Will you understand this when you see it?’

‘Perfectly,’ said her Daddy.

And she drew this. (3.) ‘And I’ll be quite as s’prised when I see it anywhere, as if you had jumped out from behind a tree and said ‘“Ah!”’

‘Now, make another noise,’ said Taffy, very proud.

‘Yah!’ said her Daddy, very loud.

‘H’m,’ said Taffy. ‘That’s a mixy noise. The end part is ah-carp-fish-mouth; but what can we do about the front part? Yer-yer-yer and ah! Ya!’

‘It’s very like the carp-fish-mouth noise. Let’s draw another bit of the carp-fish and join ‘em,’ said her Daddy. He was quite incited too.

‘No. If they’re joined, I’ll forget. Draw it separate. Draw his tail. If he’s standing on his head the tail will come first. ‘Sides, I think I can draw tails easiest,’ said Taffy.

‘A good notion,’ said Tegumai. ‘Here’s a carp-fish tail for the yer-noise.’ And he drew this. (4.)

‘I’ll try now,’ said Taffy. ‘’Member I can’t draw like you, Daddy. Will it do if I just draw the split part of the tail, and the sticky-down line for where it joins?’ And she drew this. (5.)

Her Daddy nodded, and his eyes were shiny bright with ‘citement.

‘That’s beautiful,’ she said. ‘Now make another noise, Daddy.’

‘Oh!’ said her Daddy, very loud.

‘That’s quite easy,’ said Taffy. ‘You make your mouth all around like an egg or a stone. So an egg or a stone will do for that.’

‘You can’t always find eggs or stones. We’ll have to scratch a round something like one.’ And he drew this. (6.)

‘My gracious!’ said Taffy, ‘what a lot of noise-pictures we’ve made,—carp-mouth, carp-tail, and egg! Now, make another noise, Daddy.’

‘Ssh!’ said her Daddy, and frowned to himself, but Taffy was too incited to notice.

‘That’s quite easy,’ she said, scratching on the bark.

‘Eh, what?’ said her Daddy. ‘I meant I was thinking, and didn’t want to be disturbed.’

‘It’s a noise just the same. It’s the noise a snake makes, Daddy, when it is thinking and doesn’t want to be disturbed. Let’s make the ssh-noise a snake. Will this do?’ And she drew this. (7.)

‘There,’ she said. ‘That’s another s’prise-secret. When you draw a hissy-snake by the door of your little back-cave where you mend the spears, I’ll know you’re thinking hard; and I’ll come in most mousy-quiet. And if you draw it on a tree by the river when you are fishing, I’ll know you want me to walk most most mousy-quiet, so as not to shake the banks.’

‘Perfectly true,’ said Tegumai. And there’s more in this game than you think. Taffy, dear, I’ve a notion that your Daddy’s daughter has hit upon the finest thing that there ever was since the Tribe of Tegumai took to using shark’s teeth instead of flints for their spear-heads. I believe we’ve found out the big secret of the world.’

‘Why?’ said Taffy, and her eyes shone too with incitement.

‘I’ll show,’ said her Daddy. ‘What’s water in the Tegumai language?’

‘Ya, of course, and it means river too—like Wagai-ya—the Wagai river.’

‘What is bad water that gives you fever if you drink it—black water—swamp-water?’

‘Yo, of course.’

‘Now look,’ said her Daddy. ‘S’pose you saw this scratched by the side of a pool in the beaver-swamp?’ And he drew this. (8.)

‘Carp-tail and round egg. Two noises mixed! Yo, bad water,’ said Taffy. ‘’Course I wouldn’t drink that water because I’d know you said it was bad.’

‘But I needn’t be near the water at all. I might be miles away, hunting, and still—’

‘And still it would be just the same as if you stood there and said, “G’way, Taffy, or you’ll get fever.” All that in a carp-fish-tail and a round egg! O Daddy, we must tell Mummy, quick!’ and Taffy danced all round him.

‘Not yet,’ said Tegumai; ‘not till we’ve gone a little further. Let’s see. Yo is bad water, but So is food cooked on the fire, isn’t it?’ And he drew this. (9.)

‘Yes. Snake and egg,’ said Taffy ‘So that means dinner’s ready. If you saw that scratched on a tree you’d know it was time to come to the Cave. So’d I.’

‘My Winkie!’ said Tegumai. ‘That’s true too. But wait a minute. I see a difficulty. SO means “come and have dinner,” but sho means the drying-poles where we hang our hides.’

‘Horrid old drying-poles!’ said Taffy. ‘I hate helping to hang heavy, hot, hairy hides on them. If you drew the snake and egg, and I thought it meant dinner, and I came in from the wood and found that it meant I was to help Mummy hang the two hides on the drying-poles, what would I do?’

‘You’d be cross. So’d Mummy. We must make a new picture for sho. We must draw a spotty snake that hisses sh-sh, and we’ll play that the plain snake only hisses ssss.’

‘I couldn’t be sure how to put in the spots,’ said Taffy. ‘And p’raps if you were in a hurry you might leave them out, and I’d think it was so when it was sho, and then Mummy would catch me just the same. No! I think we’d better draw a picture of the horrid high drying-poles their very selves, and make quite sure. I’ll put them in just after the hissy-snake. Look!’ And she drew this. (10.)

‘P’raps that’s safest. It’s very like our drying-poles, anyhow,’ said her Daddy, laughing. ‘Now I’ll make a new noise with a snake and drying-pole sound in it. I’ll say shi. That’s Tegumai for spear, Taffy.’ And he laughed.

‘Don’t make fun of me,’ said Taffy, as she thought of her picture-letter and the mud in the Stranger-man’s hair. ‘You draw it, Daddy.’

‘We won’t have beavers or hills this time, eh?’ said her Daddy, ‘I’ll just draw a straight line for my spear.’ and he drew this. (11.)

‘Even Mummy couldn’t mistake that for me being killed.’

‘Please don’t, Daddy. It makes me uncomfy. Do some more noises. We’re getting on beautifully.’

‘Er-hm!’ said Tegumai, looking up. ‘We’ll say shu. That means sky.’

Taffy drew the snake and the drying-pole. Then she stopped. ‘We must make a new picture for that end sound, mustn’t we?’

‘Shu-shu-u-u-u!’ said her Daddy. ‘Why, it’s just like the round-egg-sound made thin.’

‘Then s’pose we draw a thin round egg, and pretend it’s a frog that hasn’t eaten anything for years.’

‘N-no,’ said her Daddy. ‘If we drew that in a hurry we might mistake it for the round egg itself. Shu-shu-shu! ‘I tell you what we’ll do. We’ll open a little hole at the end of the round egg to show how the O-noise runs out all thin, ooo-oo-oo. Like this.’ And he drew this. (12.)

‘Oh, that’s lovely! Much better than a thin frog. Go on,’ said Taffy, using her shark’s tooth. Her Daddy went on drawing, and his hand shook with incitement. He went on till he had drawn this. (13.)

‘Don’t look up, Taffy,’ he said. ‘Try if you can make out what that means in the Tegumai language. If you can, we’ve found the Secret.’

‘Snake—pole—broken—egg—carp—tail and carp-mouth,’ said Taffy. ‘Shu-ya. Sky-water (rain).’ Just then a drop fell on her hand, for the day had clouded over. ‘Why, Daddy, it’s raining. Was that what you meant to tell me?’

‘Of course,’ said her Daddy. ‘And I told it you without saying a word, didn’t I?’

‘Well, I think I would have known it in a minute, but that raindrop made me quite sure. I’ll always remember now. Shu-ya means rain, or “it is going to rain.” Why, Daddy!’ She got up and danced round him. ‘S’pose you went out before I was awake, and drawed shu-ya in the smoke on the wall, I’d know it was going to rain and I’d take my beaver-skin hood. Wouldn’t Mummy be surprised?’

Tegumai got up and danced. (Daddies didn’t mind doing those things in those days.) ‘More than that! More than that!’ he said. ‘S’pose I wanted to tell you it wasn’t going to rain much and you must come down to the river, what would we draw? Say the words in Tegumai-talk first.’

‘Shu-ya-las, ya maru. (Sky-water ending. River come to.) what a lot of new sounds! I don’t see how we can draw them.’

‘But I do—but I do!’ said Tegumai. ‘Just attend a minute, Taffy, and we won’t do any more to-day. We’ve got shu-ya all right, haven’t we? But this las is a teaser. La-la-la’ and he waved his shark-tooth.

‘There’s the hissy-snake at the end and the carp-mouth before the snake—as-as-as. We only want la-la,’ said Taffy.

‘I know it, but we have to make la-la. And we’re the first people in all the world who’ve ever tried to do it, Taffimai!’

‘Well,’ said Taffy, yawning, for she was rather tired. ‘Las means breaking or finishing as well as ending, doesn’t it?’

‘So it does,’ said Tegumai. ‘To-las means that there’s no water in the tank for Mummy to cook with—just when I’m going hunting, too.’

‘And shi-las means that your spear is broken. If I’d only thought of that instead of drawing silly beaver pictures for the Stranger!’

‘La! La! La!’ said Tegumai, waiving his stick and frowning. ‘Oh bother!’

‘I could have drawn shi quite easily,’ Taffy went on. ‘Then I’d have drawn your spear all broken—this way!’ And she drew. (14.)

‘The very thing,’ said Tegumai. ‘That’s la all over. It isn’t like any of the other marks either.’ And he drew this. (15.)

‘Now for ya. Oh, we’ve done that before. Now for maru. Mum-mum-mum. Mum shuts one’s mouth up, doesn’t it? We’ll draw a shut mouth like this.’ And he drew. (16.)

‘Then the carp-mouth open. That makes Ma-ma-ma! But what about this rrrrr-thing, Taffy?’

‘It sounds all rough and edgy, like your shark-tooth saw when you’re cutting out a plank for the canoe,’ said Taffy.

‘You mean all sharp at the edges, like this?’ said Tegumai. And he drew. (17.)

‘’Xactly,’ said Taffy. ‘But we don’t want all those teeth: only put two.’

‘I’ll only put in one,’ said Tegumai. ‘If this game of ours is going to be what I think it will, the easier we make our sound-pictures the better for everybody.’ And he drew. (18.)

‘Now, we’ve got it,’ said Tegumai, standing on one leg. ‘I’ll draw ‘em all in a string like fish.’

‘Hadn’t we better put a little bit of stick or something between each word, so’s they won’t rub up against each other and jostle, same as if they were carps?’

‘Oh, I’ll leave a space for that,’ said her Daddy. And very incitedly he drew them all without stopping, on a big new bit of birch-bark. (19.)

‘Shu-ya-las ya-maru,’ said Taffy, reading it out sound by sound.

‘That’s enough for to-day,’ said Tegumai. ‘Besides, you’re getting tired, Taffy. Never mind, dear. We’ll finish it all to-morrow, and then we’ll be remembered for years and years after the biggest trees you can see are all chopped up for firewood.’

So they went home, and all that evening Tegumai sat on one side of the fire and Taffy on the other, drawing ya’s and yo’s and shu’s and shi’s in the smoke on the wall and giggling together till her Mummy said, ‘Really, Tegumai, you’re worse than my Taffy.’

‘Please don’t mind,’ said Taffy. ‘It’s only our secret-s’prise, Mummy dear, and we’ll tell you all about it the very minute it’s done; but please don’t ask me what it is now, or else I’ll have to tell.’

So her Mummy most carefully didn’t; and bright and early next morning Tegumai went down to the river to think about new sound pictures, and when Taffy got up she saw Ya-las (water is ending or running out) chalked on the side of the big stone water-tank, outside the Cave.

‘Um,’ said Taffy. ‘These picture-sounds are rather a bother! Daddy’s just as good as come here himself and told me to get more water for Mummy to cook with.’ She went to the spring at the back of the house and filled the tank from a bark bucket, and then she ran down to the river and pulled her Daddy’s left ear—the one that belonged to her to pull when she was good.

‘Now come along and we’ll draw all the left-over sound-pictures,’ said her Daddy, and they had a most inciting day of it, and a beautiful lunch in the middle, and two games of romps. When they came to T, Taffy said that as her name, and her Daddy’s, and her Mummy’s all began with that sound, they should draw a sort of family group of themselves holding hands. That was all very well to draw once or twice; but when it came to drawing it six or seven times, Taffy and Tegumai drew it scratchier and scratchier, till at last the T-sound was only a thin long Tegumai with his arms out to hold Taffy and Teshumai. You can see from these three pictures partly how it happened. (20, 21, 22.)

Many of the other pictures were much too beautiful to begin with, especially before lunch, but as they were drawn over and over again on birch-bark, they became plainer and easier, till at last even Tegumai said he could find no fault with them. They turned the hissy-snake the other way round for the Z-sound, to show it was hissing backwards in a soft and gentle way (23); and they just made a twiddle for E, because it came into the pictures so often (24); and they drew pictures of the sacred Beaver of the Tegumais for the B-sound (25, 26, 27, 28); and because it was a nasty, nosy noise, they just drew noses for the N-sound, till they were tired (29); and they drew a picture of the big lake-pike’s mouth for the greedy Ga-sound (30); and they drew the pike’s mouth again with a spear behind it for the scratchy, hurty Ka-sound (31); and they drew pictures of a little bit of the winding Wagai river for the nice windy-windy Wa-sound (32, 33); and so on and so forth and so following till they had done and drawn all the sound-pictures that they wanted, and there was the Alphabet, all complete.

And after thousands and thousands and thousands of years, and after Hieroglyphics and Demotics, and Nilotics, and Cryptics, and Cufics, and Runics, and Dorics, and Ionics, and all sorts of other ricks and tricks (because the Woons, and the Neguses, and the Akhoonds, and the Repositories of Tradition would never leave a good thing alone when they saw it), the fine old easy, understandable Alphabet—A, B, C, D, E, and the rest of ‘em—got back into its proper shape again for all Best Beloveds to learn when they are old enough.

But I remember Tegumai Bopsulai, and Taffimai Metallumai and Teshumai Tewindrow, her dear Mummy, and all the days gone by. And it was so—just so—a little time ago—on the banks of the big Wagai!

THE CRAB THAT PLAYED WITH THE SEA

BEFORE the High and Far-Off Times, O my Best Beloved, came the Time of the Very Beginnings; and that was in the days when the Eldest Magician was getting Things ready. First he got the Earth ready; then he got the Sea ready; and then he told all the Animals that they could come out and play. And the Animals said, ‘O Eldest Magician, what shall we play at?’ and he said, ‘I will show you. He took the Elephant—All-the-Elephant-there-was—and said, ‘Play at being an Elephant,’ and All-the-Elephant-there-was played. He took the Beaver—All-the-Beaver-there-was and said, ‘Play at being a Beaver,’ and All-the Beaver-there-was played. He took the Cow—All-the Cow-there-was—and said, ‘Play at being a Cow,’ and All-the-Cow-there-was played. He took the Turtle—All-the-Turtle there-was and said, ‘Play at being a Turtle,’ and All-the-Turtle-there-was played. One by one he took all the beasts and birds and fishes and told them what to play at.

But towards evening, when people and things grow restless and tired, there came up the Man (With his own little girl-daughter?)—Yes, with his own best beloved little girl-daughter sitting upon his shoulder, and he said, ‘What is this play, Eldest Magician?’ And the Eldest Magician said, ‘Ho, Son of Adam, this is the play of the Very Beginning; but you are too wise for this play.’ And the Man saluted and said, ‘Yes, I am too wise for this play; but see that you make all the Animals obedient to me.’

Now, while the two were talking together, Pau Amma the Crab, who was next in the game, scuttled off sideways and stepped into the sea, saying to himself, ‘I will play my play alone in the deep waters, and I will never be obedient to this son of Adam.’ Nobody saw him go away except the little girl-daughter where she leaned on the Man’s shoulder. And the play went on till there were no more Animals left without orders; and the Eldest Magician wiped the fine dust off his hands and walked about the world to see how the Animals were playing.

He went North, Best Beloved, and he found All-the-Elephant-there-was digging with his tusks and stamping with his feet in the nice new clean earth that had been made ready for him.

‘Kun?’ said All-the-Elephant-there-was, meaning, ‘Is this right?’

‘Payah kun,’ said the Eldest Magician, meaning, ‘That is quite right’; and he breathed upon the great rocks and lumps of earth that All-the-Elephant-there-was had thrown up, and they became the great Himalayan Mountains, and you can look them out on the map.

He went East, and he found All-the-Cow there-was feeding in the field that had been made ready for her, and she licked her tongue round a whole forest at a time, and swallowed it and sat down to chew her cud.

‘Kun?’ said All-the-Cow-there-was.

‘Payah kun,’ said the Eldest Magician; and he breathed upon the bare patch where she had eaten, and upon the place where she had sat down, and one became the great Indian Desert, and the other became the Desert of Sahara, and you can look them out on the map.

He went West, and he found All-the-Beaver-there-was making a beaver-dam across the mouths of broad rivers that had been got ready for him.

‘Kun?’ said All-the-Beaver-there-was.

‘Payah kun,’ said the Eldest Magician; and he breathed upon the fallen trees and the still water, and they became the Everglades in Florida, and you may look them out on the map.

Then he went South and found All-the-Turtle-there-was scratching with his flippers in the sand that had been got ready for him, and the sand and the rocks whirled through the air and fell far off into the sea.

‘Kun?’ said All-the-Turtle-there-was.

‘Payah kun,’ said the Eldest Magician; and he breathed upon the sand and the rocks, where they had fallen in the sea, and they became the most beautiful islands of Borneo, Celebes, Sumatra, Java, and the rest of the Malay Archipelago, and you can look them out on the map!

By and by the Eldest Magician met the Man on the banks of the Perak river, and said, ‘Ho! Son of Adam, are all the Animals obedient to you?’

‘Yes,’ said the Man.

‘Is all the Earth obedient to you?’

‘Yes,’ said the Man.

‘Is all the Sea obedient to you?’

‘No,’ said the Man. ‘Once a day and once a night the Sea runs up the Perak river and drives the sweet-water back into the forest, so that my house is made wet; once a day and once a night it runs down the river and draws all the water after it, so that there is nothing left but mud, and my canoe is upset. Is that the play you told it to play?’

‘No,’ said the Eldest Magician. ‘That is a new and a bad play.’

‘Look!’ said the Man, and as he spoke the great Sea came up the mouth of the Perak river, driving the river backwards till it overflowed all the dark forests for miles and miles, and flooded the Man’s house.

‘This is wrong. Launch your canoe and we will find out who is playing with the Sea,’ said the Eldest Magician. They stepped into the canoe; the little girl-daughter came with them; and the Man took his kris—a curving, wavy dagger with a blade like a flame,—and they pushed out on the Perak river. Then the sea began to run back and back, and the canoe was sucked out of the mouth of the Perak river, past Selangor, past Malacca, past Singapore, out and out to the Island of Bingtang, as though it had been pulled by a string.

Then the Eldest Magician stood up and shouted, ‘Ho! beasts, birds, and fishes, that I took between my hands at the Very Beginning and taught the play that you should play, which one of you is playing with the Sea?’

Then all the beasts, birds, and fishes said together, ‘Eldest Magician, we play the plays that you taught us to play—we and our children’s children. But not one of us plays with the Sea.’

Then the Moon rose big and full over the water, and the Eldest Magician said to the hunchbacked old man who sits in the Moon spinning a fishing-line with which he hopes one day to catch the world, ‘Ho! Fisher of the Moon, are you playing with the Sea?’

‘No,’ said the Fisherman, ‘I am spinning a line with which I shall some day catch the world; but I do not play with the Sea.’ And he went on spinning his line.

Now there is also a Rat up in the Moon who always bites the old Fisherman’s line as fast as it is made, and the Eldest Magician said to him, ‘Ho! Rat of the Moon, are you playing with the Sea?’

And the Rat said, ‘I am too busy biting through the line that this old Fisherman is spinning. I do not play with the Sea.’ And he went on biting the line.

Then the little girl-daughter put up her little soft brown arms with the beautiful white shell bracelets and said, ‘O Eldest Magician! when my father here talked to you at the Very Beginning, and I leaned upon his shoulder while the beasts were being taught their plays, one beast went away naughtily into the Sea before you had taught him his play.

And the Eldest Magician said, ‘How wise are little children who see and are silent! What was the beast like?’

And the little girl-daughter said, ‘He was round and he was flat; and his eyes grew upon stalks; and he walked sideways like this; and he was covered with strong armour upon his back.’

And the Eldest Magician said, ‘How wise are little children who speak truth! Now I know where Pau Amma went. Give me the paddle!’

So he took the paddle; but there was no need to paddle, for the water flowed steadily past all the islands till they came to the place called Pusat Tasek—the Heart of the Sea—where the great hollow is that leads down to the heart of the world, and in that hollow grows the Wonderful Tree, Pauh Janggi, that bears the magic twin nuts. Then the Eldest Magician slid his arm up to the shoulder through the deep warm water, and under the roots of the Wonderful Tree he touched the broad back of Pau Amma the Crab. And Pau Amma settled down at the touch, and all the Sea rose up as water rises in a basin when you put your hand into it.

‘Ah!’ said the Eldest Magician. ‘Now I know who has been playing with the Sea;’ and he called out, ‘What are you doing, Pau Amma?’

And Pau Amma, deep down below, answered, ‘Once a day and once a night I go out to look for my food. Once a day and once a night I return. Leave me alone.’

Then the Eldest Magician said, ‘Listen, Pau Amma. When you go out from your cave the waters of the Sea pour down into Pusat Tasek, and all the beaches of all the islands are left bare, and the little fish die, and Raja Moyang Kaban, the King of the Elephants, his legs are made muddy. When you come back and sit in Pusat Tasek, the waters of the Sea rise, and half the little islands are drowned, and the Man’s house is flooded, and Raja Abdullah, the King of the Crocodiles, his mouth is filled with the salt water.

Then Pau Amma, deep down below, laughed and said, ‘I did not know I was so important. Henceforward I will go out seven times a day, and the waters shall never be still.’

And the Eldest Magician said, ‘I cannot make you play the play you were meant to play, Pau Amma, because you escaped me at the Very Beginning; but if you are not afraid, come up and we will talk about it.’

‘I am not afraid,’ said Pau Amma, and he rose to the top of the sea in the moonlight. There was nobody in the world so big as Pau Amma—for he was the King Crab of all Crabs. Not a common Crab, but a King Crab. One side of his great shell touched the beach at Sarawak; the other touched the beach at Pahang; and he was taller than the smoke of three volcanoes! As he rose up through the branches of the Wonderful Tree he tore off one of the great twin fruits—the magic double kernelled nuts that make people young,—and the little girl-daughter saw it bobbing alongside the canoe, and pulled it in and began to pick out the soft eyes of it with her little golden scissors.

‘Now,’ said the Magician, ‘make a Magic, Pau Amma, to show that you are really important.’

Pau Amma rolled his eyes and waved his legs, but he could only stir up the Sea, because, though he was a King Crab, he was nothing more than a Crab, and the Eldest Magician laughed.

‘You are not so important after all, Pau Amma,’ he said. ‘Now, let me try,’ and he made a Magic with his left hand—with just the little finger of his left hand—and—lo and behold, Best Beloved, Pau Amma’s hard, blue-green-black shell fell off him as a husk falls off a cocoa-nut, and Pau Amma was left all soft—soft as the little crabs that you sometimes find on the beach, Best Beloved.

‘Indeed, you are very important,’ said the Eldest Magician. ‘Shall I ask the Man here to cut you with kris? Shall I send for Raja Moyang Kaban, the King of the Elephants, to pierce you with his tusks, or shall I call Raja Abdullah, the King of the Crocodiles, to bite you?’

And Pau Amma said, ‘I am ashamed! Give me back my hard shell and let me go back to Pusat Tasek, and I will only stir out once a day and once a night to get my food.’

And the Eldest Magician said, ‘No, Pau Amma, I will not give you back your shell, for you will grow bigger and prouder and stronger, and perhaps you will forget your promise, and you will play with the Sea once more.

Then Pau Amma said, ‘What shall I do? I am so big that I can only hide in Pusat Tasek, and if I go anywhere else, all soft as I am now, the sharks and the dogfish will eat me. And if I go to Pusat Tasek, all soft as I am now, though I may be safe, I can never stir out to get my food, and so I shall die.’ Then he waved his legs and lamented.

‘Listen, Pau Amma,’ said the Eldest Magician. ‘I cannot make you play the play you were meant to play, because you escaped me at the Very Beginning; but if you choose, I can make every stone and every hole and every bunch of weed in all the seas a safe Pusat Tasek for you and your children for always.’

Then Pau Amma said, ‘That is good, but I do not choose yet. Look! there is that Man who talked to you at the Very Beginning. If he had not taken up your attention I should not have grown tired of waiting and run away, and all this would never have happened. What will he do for me?’

And the Man said, ‘If you choose, I will make a Magic, so that both the deep water and the dry ground will be a home for you and your children—so that you shall be able to hide both on the land and in the sea.’

And Pau Amma said, ‘I do not choose yet. Look! there is that girl who saw me running away at the Very Beginning. If she had spoken then, the Eldest Magician would have called me back, and all this would never have happened. What will she do for me?’

And the little girl-daughter said, ‘This is a good nut that I am eating. If you choose, I will make a Magic and I will give you this pair of scissors, very sharp and strong, so that you and your children can eat cocoa-nuts like this all day long when you come up from the Sea to the land; or you can dig a Pusat Tasek for yourself with the scissors that belong to you when there is no stone or hole near by; and when the earth is too hard, by the help of these same scissors you can run up a tree.’

And Pau Amma said, ‘I do not choose yet, for, all soft as I am, these gifts would not help me. Give me back my shell, O Eldest Magician, and then I will play your play.’

And the Eldest Magician said, ‘I will give it back, Pau Amma, for eleven months of the year; but on the twelfth month of every year it shall grow soft again, to remind you and all your children that I can make magics, and to keep you humble, Pau Amma; for I see that if you can run both under the water and on land, you will grow too bold; and if you can climb trees and crack nuts and dig holes with your scissors, you will grow too greedy, Pau Amma.’

Then Pau Amma thought a little and said, ‘I have made my choice. I will take all the gifts.’

Then the Eldest Magician made a Magic with the right hand, with all five fingers of his right hand, and lo and behold, Best Beloved, Pau Amma grew smaller and smaller and smaller, till at last there was only a little green crab swimming in the water alongside the canoe, crying in a very small voice, ‘Give me the scissors!’

And the girl-daughter picked him up on the palm of her little brown hand, and sat him in the bottom of the canoe and gave him her scissors, and he waved them in his little arms, and opened them and shut them and snapped them, and said, ‘I can eat nuts. I can crack shells. I can dig holes. I can climb trees. I can breathe in the dry air, and I can find a safe Pusat Tasek under every stone. I did not know I was so important. Kun?’ (Is this right?)

‘Payah-kun,’ said the Eldest Magician, and he laughed and gave him his blessing; and little Pau Amma scuttled over the side of the canoe into the water; and he was so tiny that he could have hidden under the shadow of a dry leaf on land or of a dead shell at the bottom of the sea.

‘Was that well done?’ said the Eldest Magician.

‘Yes,’ said the Man. ‘But now we must go back to Perak, and that is a weary way to paddle. If we had waited till Pau Amma had gone out of Pusat Tasek and come home, the water would have carried us there by itself.’

‘You are lazy,’ said the Eldest Magician. ‘So your children shall be lazy. They shall be the laziest people in the world. They shall be called the Malazy—the lazy people;’ and he held up his finger to the Moon and said, ‘O Fisherman, here is the Man too lazy to row home. Pull his canoe home with your line, Fisherman.’

‘No,’ said the Man. ‘If I am to be lazy all my days, let the Sea work for me twice a day for ever. That will save paddling.’

And the Eldest Magician laughed and said, ‘Payah kun’ (That is right).

And the Rat of the Moon stopped biting the line; and the Fisherman let his line down till it touched the Sea, and he pulled the whole deep Sea along, past the Island of Bintang, past Singapore, past Malacca, past Selangor, till the canoe whirled into the mouth of the Perak River again. Kun?’ said the Fisherman of the Moon.

‘Payah kun,’ said the Eldest Magician. ‘See now that you pull the Sea twice a day and twice a night for ever, so that the Malazy fishermen may be saved paddling. But be careful not to do it too hard, or I shall make a magic on you as I did to Pau Amma.’

Then they all went up the Perak River and went to bed, Best Beloved.

Now listen and attend!

From that day to this the Moon has always pulled the sea up and down and made what we call the tides. Sometimes the Fisher of the Sea pulls a little too hard, and then we get spring tides; and sometimes he pulls a little too softly, and then we get what are called neap-tides; but nearly always he is careful, because of the Eldest Magician.

And Pau Amma? You can see when you go to the beach, how all Pau Amma’s babies make little Pusat Taseks for themselves under every stone and bunch of weed on the sands; you can see them waving their little scissors; and in some parts of the world they truly live on the dry land and run up the palm trees and eat cocoa-nuts, exactly as the girl-daughter promised. But once a year all Pau Ammas must shake off their hard armour and be soft-to remind them of what the Eldest Magician could do. And so it isn’t fair to kill or hunt Pau Amma’s babies just because old Pau Amma was stupidly rude a very long time ago.

Oh yes! And Pau Amma’s babies hate being taken out of their little Pusat Taseks and brought home in pickle-bottles. That is why they nip you with their scissors, and it serves you right!

Or if you can’t wait till then, ask them to let you have the outside page of the Times; turn over to page 2 where it is marked ‘Shipping’ on the top left hand; then take the Atlas (and that is the finest picture-book in the world) and see how the names of the places that the steamers go to fit into the names of the places on the map. Any steamer-kiddy ought to be able to do that; but if you can’t read, ask some one to show it you.