The child--in his excitement put down his paint-brush in the middle of Bengal as a safe spot. 'Not half wed enough! An' besides! there's mistakes an' mistakes, an' the yellow an' gween run over the line. I don't mind the yellow so much, 'cos we only allow them to be that colour; but it's dweadful with gween! An' then there's some orful fings. You see that spot'--he pointed triumphantly to an almost invisible speck of red like a midge bite--'I made that! It wasn't there. Mum said the map people fought it was too small to put in, but it's got to be, you see; so when I give the map to Budlu--Budlu's got a little grandson older nor me at school who learns maps, and mum said I might give him this one--I'll tell him it isn't _quite_ the wight size. But it may be, some time, you know. Perhaps when I gwow up it will be.' The clear bright eyes grew dreamy, as Jerry, with conscientious care, skirted around the possessions of an extremely minor chieftain. 'Perhaps!' echoed the man still more slowly. 'And I expect you'd like to make it bigger, wouldn't you?' 'Wather! I should think I just would! Like as mum says her gweat-gweat-gwandfather-people--an' yours too, she said, Mr. Waymond--did. Just like Clive, you know, an' all the people that people wemember.' The man's face was very close to the child's now, as resting his elbows on the table, he watched the crimson brush. 'What a Jingo you are, Jerry! And if any one were to try--to try and make a really red bit yellow, for instance--or even pale pink--what would you do?' Jerry went on with his task laboriously. 'I wouldn't let 'em, in course. I'd take away their tumblers, an' their paint-brushes, an' everything, till they hadn't no excuse; an' then, if they was bad still, I d whack 'em!' Jack Raymond rose to go. 'A very sound theory of Government, young man,' he said, and his voice had an odd ring in it, 'especially the whacking. It's a pity you're not grown-up now, Jerry--why aren't you?' Jerry looked up with the child's sudden consciousness of a joke, and smiled at his friend roguishly. 'Why? 'Cos _you_ are, in course! When you're dead, I'll do it. It's your turn now! Oh don't go, please! you haven't told me yet----' 'What?' asked Jack Raymond, pausing with a still odder look on his face. Jerry's finger travelled carefully down to Pondicherry. 'That!' he said. 'They say it is Fwench, an' it's beastly; but when I looked in the atlas for Fwance colour, it was all sorts--gweens, and blues, and yellows, and weds, all mixed up. So, please! wouldn't it be fair to make it wed too? I couldn't help what it _looks like_, could I, if I didn't mean cheating?' 'My dear little chap!' replied Jack Raymond, 'if I were you, I'd paint every blessed bit of it bright scarlet!' And then suddenly, much to Jerry's surprise, he stooped and kissed the child's puzzled yet open forehead. 'Oh! fank you,' said Jerry politely. 'Mum kisses me like that sometimes, and dad too. I--I like it.'