“It had a spell put on it by an old fakir,” said the sergeant-major, “a very holy man. He wanted to show that fate ruled people’s lives, and that those who interfered with it did so to their sorrow. He put a spell on it so that three separate men could each have three wishes from it.” 

 His manner was so impressive that his hearers were conscious that their light laughter jarred somewhat. 

 “Well, why don’t you have three, sir?” said Herbert White, cleverly. 

 The soldier regarded him in the way that middle age is wont to regard presumptuous youth. “I have,” he said, quietly, and his blotchy face whitened. 

 “And did you really have the three wishes granted?” asked Mrs. White. 

 “I did,” said the sergeant-major, and his glass tapped against his strong teeth. 

 “And has anybody else wished?” persisted the old lady. 

 “The first man had his three wishes. Yes,” was the reply; “I don’t know what the first two were, but the third was for death. That’s how I got the paw.” 

 His tones were so grave that a hush fell upon the group. 

 “If you’ve had your three wishes, it’s no good to you now, then, Morris,” said the old man at last. “What do you keep it for?” 

 The soldier shook his head. “Fancy, I suppose,” he said, slowly. “I did have some idea of selling it, but I don’t think I will. It has caused enough mischief already. Besides, people won’t buy. They think it’s a fairy tale; some of them, and those who do think anything of it want to try it first and pay me afterward.” 

 “If you could have another three wishes,” said the old man, eyeing him keenly, “would you have them?” 

 “I don’t know,” said the other. “I don’t know.” 

 He took the paw, and dangling it between his forefinger and thumb, suddenly threw it upon the fire. White, with a slight cry, stooped down and snatched it off. 

 “Better let it burn,” said the soldier, solemnly. 

 “If you don’t want it, Morris,” said the other, “give it to me.” 

 Prev. P 3/11 next