Kim

is a very holy man, from far beyond the Hills. Rest, thou. In time we

come to Umballa.'

'But my River--the River of my healing?'

'And then, if it please thee, we will go hunting for that River on

foot. So that we miss nothing--not even a little rivulet in a

field-side.'

'But thou hast a Search of thine own?' The lama--very pleased that he

remembered so well--sat bolt upright.

'Ay,' said Kim, humouring him. The boy was entirely happy to be out

chewing pan and seeing new people in the great good-tempered world.

'It was a bull--a Red Bull that shall come and help thee and carry

thee--whither? I have forgotten. A Red Bull on a green field, was it

not?'

'Nay, it will carry me nowhere,' said Kim. 'It is but a tale I told

thee.'

'What is this?' The cultivator's wife leaned forward, her bracelets

clinking on her arm. 'Do ye both dream dreams? A Red Bull on a green

field, that shall carry thee to the heavens or what? Was it a vision?

Did one make a prophecy? We have a Red Bull in our village behind

Jullundur city, and he grazes by choice in the very greenest of our

fields!'

'Give a woman an old wife's tale and a weaver-bird a leaf and a

thread', they will weave wonderful things,' said the Sikh. 'All holy

men dream dreams, and by following holy men their disciples attain that

power.'

'A Red Bull on a green field, was it?' the lama repeated. 'In a

former life it may be thou hast acquired merit, and the Bull will come

to reward thee.'

'Nay--nay--it was but a tale one told to me--for a jest belike. But I

will seek the Bull about Umballa, and thou canst look for thy River and

rest from the clatter of the train.'

'It may be that the Bull knows--that he is sent to guide us both.'

said the lama, hopefully as a child. Then to the company, indicating

Kim: 'This one was sent to me but yesterday. He is not, I think, of

this world.'

'Beggars aplenty have I met, and holy men to boot, but never such a

yogi nor such a disciple,' said the woman.

Her husband touched his forehead lightly with one finger and smiled.

But the next time the lama would eat they took care to give him of

their best.

And at last--tired, sleepy, and dusty--they reached Umballa City

Station.

'We abide here upon a law-suit,' said the cultivator's wife to Kim.

'We lodge with my man's cousin's younger brother. There is room also

in the courtyard for thy yogi and for thee. Will--will he give me a

blessing?'

'O holy man! A woman with a heart of gold gives us lodging for the

night. It is a kindly land, this land of the South. See how we have

been helped since the dawn!'

The lama bowed his head in benediction.

'To fill my cousin's younger brother's house with wastrels--' the

husband began, as he shouldered his heavy bamboo staff.

'Thy cousin's younger brother owes my father's cousin something yet on

his daughter's marriage-feast,' said the woman crisply. 'Let him put

their food to that account. The yogi will beg, I doubt not.'

'Ay, I beg for him,' said Kim, anxious only to get the lama under

shelter for the night, that he might seek Mahbub Ali's Englishman and

deliver himself of the white stallion's pedigree.

'Now,' said he, when the lama had come to an anchor in the inner

courtyard of a decent Hindu house behind the cantonments, 'I go away

for a while--to--to buy us victual in the bazar. Do not stray abroad

till I return.'

'Thou wilt return? Thou wilt surely return?' The old man caught at

his wrist. 'And thou wilt return in this very same shape? Is it too

late to look tonight for the River?'

'Too late and too dark. Be comforted. Think how far thou art on the

road--an hundred miles from Lahore already.'

'Yea--and farther from my monastery. Alas! It is a great and terrible

world.'

Kim stole out and away, as unremarkable a figure as ever carried his

own and a few score thousand other folk's fate slung round his neck.

Mahbub Ali's directions left him little doubt of the house in which his

Englishman lived; and a groom, bringing a dog-cart home from the Club,

made him quite sure. It remained only to identify his man, and Kim

slipped through the garden hedge and hid in a clump of plumed grass

close to the veranda. The house blazed with lights, and servants moved

about tables dressed with flowers, glass, and silver. Presently forth

came an Englishman, dressed in black and white, humming a tune. It was

too dark to see his face, so Kim, beggar-wise, tried an old experiment.

'Protector of the Poor!'

The man backed towards the voice.

'Mahbub Ali says--'

'Hah! What says Mahbub Ali?' He made no attempt to look for the

speaker, and that showed Kim that he knew.

'The pedigree of the white stallion is fully established.'

'What proof is there?' The Englishman switched at the rose-hedge in

the side of the drive.

'Mahbub Ali has given me this proof.' Kim flipped the wad of folded

paper into the air, and it fell in the path beside the man, who put his

foot on it as a gardener came round the corner. When the servant passed

he picked it up, dropped a rupee--Kim could hear the clink--and strode

into the house, never turning round. Swiftly Kim took up the money;

but for all his training, he was Irish enough by birth to reckon silver

the least part of any game. What he desired was the visible effect of

action; so, instead of slinking away, he lay close in the grass and

wormed nearer to the house.

He saw--Indian bungalows are open through and through--the Englishman

return to a small dressing-room, in a comer of the veranda, that was

half office, littered with papers and despatch-boxes, and sit down to

study Mahbub Ali's message. His face, by the full ray of the kerosene

lamp, changed and darkened, and Kim, used as every beggar must be to

watching countenances, took good note.

'Will! Will, dear!' called a woman's voice. 'You ought to be in the

drawing-room. They'll be here in a minute.'

The man still read intently.

'Will!' said the voice, five minutes later. 'He's come. I can hear

the troopers in the drive.'

The man dashed out bareheaded as a big landau with four native troopers

behind it halted at the veranda, and a tall, black haired man, erect as

an arrow, swung out, preceded by a young officer who laughed pleasantly.

Flat on his belly lay Kim, almost touching the high wheels. His man

and the black stranger exchanged two sentences.

'Certainly, sir,' said the young officer promptly. 'Everything waits

while a horse is concerned.'

'We shan't be more than twenty minutes,' said Kim's man. 'You can do

the honours--keep 'em amused, and all that.'

'Tell one of the troopers to wait,' said the tall man, and they both

passed into the dressing-room together as the landau rolled away. Kim

saw their heads bent over Mahbub Ali's message, and heard the

voices--one low and deferential, the other sharp and decisive.

'It isn't a question of weeks. It is a question of days--hours

almost,' said the elder. 'I'd been expecting it for some time, but

this'--he tapped Mahbub Ali's paper--'clinches it. Grogan's dining

here to-night, isn't he?'

'Yes, sir, and Macklin too.'

'Very good. I'll speak to them myself. The matter will be referred to

the Council, of course, but this is a case where one is justified in

assuming that we take action at once. Warn the Pined and Peshawar

brigades. It will disorganize all the summer reliefs, but we can't

help that. This comes of not smashing them thoroughly the first time.