*' LITTLE HALF-BROTHER" 53 



had a rank alkaline taste. It was some time before 

 we could solve the mystery. 



We had some trouble with our fuel, which was wood 

 and very smoky. But Phishie, the head cook, an 

 inky black Swahili, finally became a past master of 

 keeping red hot coals under the stove top without 

 more than the faintest wisp of white vapor rising 

 through the chimney. 



One day Phishie came over to where Osa was 

 putting some bulbs into her flower garden. He is 

 over six feet tall and usually very graceful in every 

 movement of his lithe body. This morning he was 

 behaving awkwardly, hitching from one foot to the 

 other and grinning foolishly. Osa thought he was 

 going to apologize because she had just jumped all 

 over him when his last batch of bread was not quite 

 as good as it should have been. 



"What do you want, Phishie?" she asked him 

 when she saw that he couldn't quite get up his nerve 

 to speak. 



He grinned a six-inch grin. "I want to tell you, 

 Memsab, that I think her man some day be as big as 

 fine elephant," he said. 



For the fraction of a second, Osa thought the boy 

 was trying to be fresh. But that is the last thing in 

 the world he would have done, I know. So she 

 nodded seriously and said, "Why do you say that. 

 Phishie?" 



