JUNGLE CHILDREN

Sun (Auckland), Volume I, Issue 241, 31 December 1927, Page 23

JUNGLE CHILDREN

Once, in a far-away forest, there lived a baby leopard. His name was Freckles, and his father and mothei were very proud of him. That wouldn't have mattered. The jungle is full of proud fathers and mothers, and all jungle babies are spoiled until they arv grown up. Then their parents forget all about them or treat them as perfect strangers. But the trouble with Freckles wa> that he was proud of himself —inordinately proud. You would have said from his behaviour that he was tin only baby leopard in the forest. The cause of all this pride was his ■ spots. There were 725 of them. Freckles | knew, because he had counted them i ——not once, but often. He counted them first tiling when he got up in the morn ing. and he counted them again at night, to make sure that none of them faded out during the day. Once lie counted them and made only 724, and he was miserable all that morning and afternoon till the evening, when he had a recount and found that he missed on tiny spot right at the tip of his tail. Of course, it was easy counting on his body and legs, but it wasn’t s«easy doing his face and neck. He got over this difficulty by standing or, tl:> edge of a pool and staring at his reflection in the water. At the other end of the forest lived a cheetah and his wife and family. The family consisted of one child—a hand some cub. called Cliilperic. His coat was tawny yellow and it was starred from nose to tail with the neatest of neat black spots. The day when Chilperic and Freckles first met was a sad one for the leopard Without a word each walked round and round the other. As they walked they counted. And what do you think the result was? A dead heat. Both had 725 spots. Freckles was terriblv upset. He insisted on a second count and even a third, and would have counted four times, but it got too dark to see properly and he had to go horn All that week he was miserably unhappy. He couldn’t bear the thought that there was anyone in the jungle as spotty as he was. His father and mother noticed that he was quietei than usual and that he spent montime than ever counting his spots. If only he could make it 726' lie used to to lie awake at night thinking of all kinds of plans for growing another spot, but it was all of no use Then there came a day when, feeling very ashamed and unhappy, he wandered off in the jungle all by himself giving a wide berth to the places when the cheetah cub might be playing. Presently he came to a tall coconut tree, and there, at the farthest end of the highest branch, sat Ali the Apt idly scratching himself. Now Ali hud a great contempt for all the other animals in the forest, but most especially for anything that was spotted When, therefore, he saw the leopard padding along on the floor of the forest he left off scratching himself for a moment, and, picking the largest coconut that grew within reach, he took careful aim and dropped it on Freckles head, just as he passed below. Freckles gave a yelp as the coco-nut caught him full between the eyes. He had no ide;< where it came from, but he guessed that someone must have thrown it. All that night his head ached hoi - ribly. It was still hurting next morning, so he decided to go down to tinpool and to bathe it. Imagine liis # astonishment and delight when he looked into the clear water and saw reflected there, in the very centre of his forehead where the coco-nut had struck him, a round bruise as big as penny and blacker than all the other spots on his body. Without waiting for a second look, he turned and ran without stopping once, to the cav. where the cheetah family lived. He found Chilperic sunning himself on the front-door step. Freckles looked him straight in the face. “726!” he said. ROADSIDE FLOWER 3 We are the roadside flowe*». Straying from garden grounds. Lovers of idle hours, Breakers of ordered bounds. If only the earth will feed us. If only the wind be kind. We blossom for those who need us. The stragglers left behind. And lo! the Lord of the Garden, He makes His sun to rise. And his rain to fall like pardon On our dusty paradise. On us He lias laid the duty— The task of the wandering breed— To better the world with beauty. Wherever the way may lead. Who shall inquire of the season. Or question the wind where it blows? We blossom and ask no reason; The Lord of the Garden knows. —Sent in by Joyce Thomson.