74 



THE TRIBES ON MY FRONTIER. 



prostrate and bleeding, with a mob of dastardly crows seek- 

 ing its life. Running to the rescue, he lifted it up, and dis- 

 covered, under its wings, a helpless little infant, which it 

 was vainly trying to save from its ruthless persecutors. 

 The pathos of the story comes to a head at the point where 

 my humane friend, putting his hand into his trousers pocket, 

 draws out two annas and gives them to a native lad, charging 

 him to protect the poor creature and take it to a place of 

 safety. No one who has any respect for his own feelings 

 will press the matter further, and inquire what the native 

 did when he had received the two annas and my humane 

 friend was gone. 



