"Some people are good, and some people are bad," thought Comale
sadly. "The butterflies go on pilgrimage, but the bad moth's little
bundle of firewood hangs in the tree. I wish I did not always do
something bad!"

Ordinarily he would not have cared for the acts of either moth or
butterfly, but to-day there was in Comale's heart a sense of guilt
that found accusation from unwonted sources.

"Comale!" warned his father again, "another false cut!"

Tears of mortification sprang to the lad's eyes. Never had ha seemed
to himself to be so awkward a peeler. It was something beside
awkwardness that ailed Comale's hand to-day. He was worrying over
the possible consequences of a deed of his.

That morning, he and his sister Pidura, who was about his own age,
had quarreled. They did not quarrel as often now as they used to
before Pidura and he knew anything about the way to be a Christian.
They tried to be patient, usually, but this morning there had been a
sharp quarrel between the two about the rice for breakfast. After
breakfast, Comale, still feeling very angry, had gone into the
veranda that each one-story house possesses. This veranda was
overshadowed by the high-pitched roof, and while, inside the house,
there was matting on the floor, as in Cingalese houses, the veranda
had a rough material made from the husks of the cocoanut. This
material was so placed as to prevent serpents from crawling into the
house. Ceylon has many serpents, and Pidura, Comale's sister, was
very much afraid of them. As Comale, yet very angry with his sister,