THE DAY'S WORK

By Rudyard Kipling

CONTENTS

 THE BRIDGE-BUILDERS A WALKING DELEGATE THE SHIP THAT FOUND HERSELF THE TOMB OF HIS ANCESTORS THE DEVIL AND THE DEEP SEA WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR . 007 THE MALTESE CAT BREAD UPON THE WATERS AN ERROR IN THE FOURTH DIMENSION MY SUNDAY AT HOME THE BRUSHWOOD BOY

THE BRIDGE-BUILDERS

The least that Findlayson, of the Public Works Department, expected wasa C. I. E. ; he dreamed of a C. S. I. : indeed, his friends told himthat he deserved more. For three years he had endured heat and cold, disappointment, discomfort, danger, and disease, with responsibilityalmost too heavy for one pair of shoulders; and day by day, through thattime, the great Kashi Bridge over the Ganges had grown under his charge. Now, in less than three months, if all went well, his Excellency theViceroy would open the bridge in state, an archbishop would bless it, and the first trainload of soldiers would come over it, and there wouldbe speeches. 

Findlayson, C. E. , sat in his trolley on a construction line that ranalong one of the main revetments--the huge stone-faced banks that flaredaway north and south for three miles on either side of the river--andpermitted himself to think of the end. With its approaches, his work wasone mile and three-quarters fin length; a lattice-girder bridge, trussedwith the Findlayson truss, standing on seven-and-twenty brick pies. Eachone of those piers was twenty-four feet in diameter, capped with redAgra stone and sunk eighty feet below the shifting sand of the Ganges'bed. Above them was a railway-line fifteen feet broad; above that, again, a cart-road of eighteen feet, flanked with footpaths. At eitherend rose towers of red brick, loopholed for musketry and pierced forbig guns, and the ramp of the road was being pushed forward to theirhaunches. The raw earth-ends were crawling and alive with hundreds uponhundreds of tiny asses climbing out of the yawning borrow-pit below withsackfuls of stuff; and the hot afternoon air was filled with thenoise of hooves, the rattle of the drivers' sticks, and the swish androll-down of the dirt. The river was very low, and on the dazzlingwhite sand between the three centre piers stood squat cribs ofrailway-sleepers, filled within and daubed without with mud, to supportthe last of the girders as those were riveted up. In the little deepwater left by the drought, an overhead-crane travelled to and froalong its spile-pier, jerking sections of iron into place, snorting andbacking and grunting as an elephant grunts in the timber-yard. Rivetersby the hundred swarmed about the lattice side-work and the iron roof ofthe railway-line, hung from invisible staging under the bellies ofthe girders, clustered round the throats of the piers, and rode on theoverhang of the footpath-stanchions; their fire-pots and the spurts offlame that answered each hammer-stroke showing no more than paleyellow in the sun's glare. East and west and north and south theconstruction-trains rattled and shrieked up and down the embankments, the piled trucks of brown and white stone banging behind them till theside-boards were unpinned, and with a roar and a grumble a few thousandtons more material were flung out to hold the river in place. 

Findlayson, C. E. , turned on his trolley and looked over the face of thecountry that he had changed for seven miles around. Looked back on thehumming village of five thousand workmen; up stream and down, along thevista of spurs and sand; across the river to the far piers, lesseningin the haze; overhead to the guard-towers--and only he knew how strongthose were--and with a sigh of contentment saw that his work was good. There stood his bridge before him in the sunlight, lacking only a fewweeks' work on the girders of the three middle piers--his bridge, rawand ugly as original sin, but pukka--permanent--to endure when allmemory of the builder, yea, even of the splendid Findlayson truss, hadperished. Practically, the thing was done. 

Hitchcock, his assistant, cantered along the line on a littleswitch-tailed Kabuli pony who through long practice could have trottedsecurely over a trestle, and nodded to his chief. 

"All but, " said he, with a smile. 

"I've been thinking about it, " the senior answered. "Not half a bad jobfor two men, is it?"

"One-and a half. Gad, what a Cooper's Hill cub I was when I came on theworks!" Hitchcock felt very old in the crowded experiences of the pastthree years, that had taught him power and responsibility. 

"You were rather a colt, " said Findlayson. "I wonder how you'll likegoing back to office-work when this job's over. "

"I shall hate it!" said the young man, and as he went on his eyefollowed Findlayson's, and he muttered, "Isn't it damned good?"

"I think we'll go up the service together, " Findlayson said to himself. "You're too good a youngster to waste on another man. Cub thou wart;assistant thou art. Personal assistant, and at Simla, thou shalt be, ifany credit comes to me out of the business!"

Indeed; the burden of the work had fallen altogether on Findlayson andhis assistant, the young man whom he had chosen because of his rawnessto break to his own needs. There were labour contractors by thehalf-hundred--fitters and riveters, European, borrowed from the railwayworkshops, with, perhaps, twenty white and half-caste subordinates todirect, under direction, the bevies of workmen--but none knew betterthan these two, who trusted each other, how the underlings were not tobe trusted. They had been tried many times in sudden crises--by slippingof booms, by breaking of tackle, failure of cranes, and the wrath ofthe river--but no stress had brought to light any man among men whomFindlayson and Hitchcock would have honoured by working as remorselesslyas they worked themselves. Findlayson thought it over from thebeginning: the months of office-work destroyed at a blow when theGovernment of India, at the last moment, added two feet to the width ofthe bridge, under the impression that bridges were cut out of paper, andso brought to ruin at least half an acre of calculations--and Hitchcock, new to disappointment, buried his head in his arms and wept; theheart-breaking delays over the filling of the contracts in England; thefutile correspondences hinting at great wealth of commissions if one, only one, rather doubtful consignment were passed; the war that followedthe refusal; the careful, polite obstruction at the other end thatfollowed the war, till young Hitchcock, putting one month's leave toanother month, and borrowing ten days from Findlayson, spent his poorlittle savings of a year in a wild dash to London, and there, as his owntongue asserted and the later consignments proved, put the fear of Godinto a man so great that he feared only Parliament and said so tillHitchcock wrought with him across his own dinner-table, and--he fearedthe Kashi Bridge and all who spoke in its name. Then there was thecholera that came in the night to the village by the bridge works; andafter the cholera smote the Smallpox. The fever they had always withthem. Hitchcock had been appointed a magistrate of the third classwith whipping powers, for the better government of the community, andFindlayson watched him wield his powers temperately, learning what tooverlook and what to look after. It was a long, long reverie, and itcovered storm, sudden freshets, death in every manner and shape, violentand awful rage against red tape half frenzying a mind that knows itshould be busy on other things; drought, sanitation, finance; birth, wedding, burial, and riot in the village of twenty warring castes;argument, expostulation, persuasion, and the blank despair that aman goes to bed upon, thankful that his rifle is all in pieces inthe gun-case. Behind everything rose the black frame of the KashiBridge--plate by plate, girder by girder, span by span-and each pierof it recalled Hitchcock, the all-round man, who had stood by his chiefwithout failing from the very first to this last. 

So the bridge was two men's work--unless one counted Peroo, as Peroocertainly counted himself. He was a Lascar, a Kharva from Bulsar, familiar with every port between Rockhampton and London, who had risento the rank of sarang on the British India boats, but wearying ofroutine musters and clean clothes, had thrown up the service and goneinland, where men of his calibre were sure of employment. For hisknowledge of tackle and the handling of heavy weights, Peroo was worthalmost any price he might have chosen to put upon his services; butcustom decreed the wage of the overhead men, and Peroo was not withinmany silver pieces of his proper value. Neither running water norextreme heights made him afraid; and, as an ex-serang, he knew how tohold authority. No piece of iron was so big or so badly placed thatPeroo could not devise a tackle to lift it--a loose-ended, saggingarrangement, rigged with a scandalous amount of talking, but perfectlyequal to the work in hand. It was Peroo who had saved the girder ofNumber Seven pier from destruction when the new wire rope jammed in theeye of the crane, and the huge plate tilted in its slings, threateningto slide out sideways. Then the native workmen lost their heads withgreat shoutings, and Hitchcock's right arm was broken by a fallingT-plate, and he buttoned it up in his coat and swooned, and came to anddirected for four hours till Peroo, from the top of the crane, reported"All's well, " and the plate swung home. There was no one like Peroo, serang, to lash, and guy, and hold to control the donkey-engines, tohoist a fallen locomotive craftily out of the borrow-pit into which ithad tumbled; to strip, and dive, if need be, to see how the concreteblocks round the piers stood the scouring of Mother Gunga, or toadventure up-stream on a monsoon night and report on the state of theembankment-facings. He would interrupt the field-councils of Findlaysonand Hitchcock without fear, till his wonderful English, or his stillmore wonderful lingua franca, half Portuguese and half Malay, ranout and he was forced to take string and show the knots that he wouldrecommend. He controlled his own gang of tacklemen--mysterious relativesfrom Kutch Mandvi gathered month by month and tried to the uttermost. No consideration of family or kin allowed Peroo to keep weak hands or agiddy head on the pay-roll. "My honour is the honour of this bridge, " hewould say to the about-to-be-dismissed. "What do I care for your honour?Go and work on a steamer. That is all you are fit for. "

The little cluster of huts where he and his gang lived centred round thetattered dwelling of a sea-priest--one who had never set foot on blackwater, but had been chosen as ghostly counsellor by two generations ofsea-rovers all unaffected by port missions or those creeds which arethrust upon sailors by agencies along Thames bank. The priest of theLascara had nothing to do with their caste, or indeed with anything atall. He ate the offerings of his church, and slept and smoked, and sleptagain "for, " said Peroo, who had haled him a thousand miles inland, "heis a very holy man. He never cares what you eat so long as you donot eat beef, and that is good, because on land we worship Shiva, weKharvas; but at sea on the Kumpani's boats we attend strictly to theorders of the Burra Malum [the first mate], and on this bridge weobserve what Finlinson Sahib says. "

Finlinson Sahib had that day given orders to clear the scaffolding fromthe guard-tower on the right bank, and Peroo with his mates was castingloose and lowering down the bamboo poles and planks as swiftly as everthey had whipped the cargo out of a coaster. 

From his trolley he could hear the whistle of the serang's silver pipeand the creak and clatter of the pulleys. Peroo was standing on thetopmost coping of the tower, clad in the blue dungaree of his abandonedservice, and as Findlayson motioned to him to be careful, for his wasno life to throw away, he gripped the last pole, and, shading his eyesship-fashion, answered with the long-drawn wail of the fo'c'sle lookout:"Ham dekhta hai" ("I am looking out"). Findlayson laughed and thensighed. It was years since he had seen a steamer, and he was sick forhome. As his trolley passed under the tower, Peroo descended by a rope, ape-fashion, and cried: "It looks well now, Sahib. Our bridge is all butdone. What think you Mother Gunga will say when the rail runs over?"

"She has said little so far. It was never Mother Gunga that delayed us. "

"There is always time for her; and none the less there has been delay. Has the Sahib forgotten last autumn's flood, when the stoneboats weresunk without warning--or only a half-day's warning?"

"Yes, but nothing save a big flood could hurt us now. The spurs areholding well on the west bank. "

"Mother Gunga eats great allowances. There is always room for more stoneon the revetments. I tell this to the Chota Sahib"--he meant Hitchcock--"and he laughs. "

"No matter, Peroo. Another year thou wilt be able to build a bridge inthine own fashion. "

The Lascar grinned. "Then it will not be in this way--with stoneworksunk under water, as the Quetta was sunk. I like sus-suspen-sheenbridges that fly from bank to bank, with one big step, like agang-plank. Then no water can hurt. When does the Lord Sahib come toopen the bridge?"

"In three months, when the weather is cooler. "

"Ho! ho! He is like the Burra Malum. He sleeps below while the work isbeing done. Then he comes upon the quarter-deck and touches with hisfinger, and says: 'This is not clean! Dam jibboonwallah!'"

"But the Lord Sahib does not call me a dam jibboonwallah, Peroo. "

"No, Sahib; but he does not come on deck till the work is all finished. Even the Burra Malum of the Nerbudda said once at Tuticorin--"

"Bah! Go! I am busy. "

"I, also!" said Peroo, with an unshaken countenance. "May I take thelight dinghy now and row along the spurs?"

"To hold them with thy hands? They are, I think, sufficiently heavy. "

"Nay, Sahib. It is thus. At sea, on the Black Water, we have room to beblown up and down without care. Here we have no room at all. Look you, we have put the river into a dock, and run her between stone sills. "

Findlayson smiled at the "we. "

"We have bitted and bridled her. She is not like the sea, that can beatagainst a soft beach. She is Mother Gunga--in irons. " His voice fell alittle. 

"Peroo, thou hast been up and down the world more even than I. Speaktrue talk, now. How much dolt thou in thy heart believe of MotherGunga?"

"All that our priest says. London is London, Sahib. Sydney is Sydney, and Port Darwin is Port Darwin. Also Mother Gunga is Mother Gunga, andwhen I come back to her banks I know this and worship. In London I didpoojah to the big temple by the river for the sake of the God within. . . . Yes, I will not take the cushions in the dinghy. "

Findlayson mounted his horse and trotted to the shed of a bungalow thathe shared with his assistant. The place had become home to him in thelast three years. He had grilled in the heat, sweated in the rains, andshivered with fever under the rude thatch roof; the lime-wash beside thedoor was covered with rough drawings and formulae, and the sentry-pathtrodden in the matting of the verandah showed where he had walked alone. There is no eight-hour limit to an engineer's work, and the eveningmeal with Hitchcock was eaten booted and spurred: over their cigarsthey listened to the hum of the village as the gangs came up from theriver-bed and the lights began to twinkle. 

"Peroo has gone up the spurs in your dinghy. He's taken a couple ofnephews with him, and he's lolling in the stern like a commodore, " saidHitchcock. 

"That's all right. He's got something on his mind. You'd think that tenyears in the British India boats would have knocked most of his religionout of him. "

"So it has, " said Hitchcock, chuckling. "I overheard him the otherday in the middle of a most atheistical talk with that fat old guru oftheirs. Peroo denied the efficacy of prayer; and wanted the guru togo to sea and watch a gale out with him, and see if he could stop amonsoon. "

"All the same, if you carried off his gurus he'd leave us like a shot. He was yarning away to me about praying to the dome of St. Paul's whenhe was in London. "

"He told me that the first time he went into the engine-room of asteamer, when he was a boy, he prayed to the low-pressure cylinder. "

"Not half a bad thing to pray to, either. He's propitiating his own Godsnow, and he wants to know what Mother Gunga will think of a bridgebeing run across her. Who's there?" A shadow darkened the doorway, and atelegram was put into Hitchcock's hand. 

"She ought to be pretty well used to it by this time. Only a tar. Itought to be Ralli's answer about the new rivets. . . . Great Heavens!"Hitchcock jumped to his feet. 

"What is it?" said the senior, and took the form. "That's what MotherGunga thinks, is it, " he said, reading. "Keep cool, young'un. We've gotall our work cut out for us. Let's see. Muir wired half an hour ago:'Floods on the Ramgunga. Look out. ' Well, that gives us--one, two--nineand a half for the flood to reach Melipur Ghaut and seven's sixteen anda half to Lataoli--say fifteen hours before it comes down to us. "

"Curse that hill-fed sewer of a Ramgunga! Findlayson, this is two monthsbefore anything could have been expected, and the left bank is litteredup with stuff still. Two full months before the time!"

"That's why it comes. I've only known Indian rivers for five-and-twentyyears, and I don't pretend to understand. Here comes another tar. "Findlayson opened the telegram. "Cockran, this time, from the GangesCanal: 'Heavy rains here. Bad. ' He might have saved the last word. Well, we don't want to know any more. We've got to work the gangs all nightand clean up the river-bed. You'll take the east bank and work out tomeet me in the middle. Get every thing that floats below the bridge: weshall have quite enough rivercraft coming down adrift anyhow, withoutletting the stone-boats ram the piers. What have you got on the eastbank that needs looking after. "

"Pontoon--one big pontoon with the overhead crane on it. T'otheroverhead crane on the mended pontoon, with the cart-road rivetsfrom Twenty to Twenty-three piers--two construction lines, and aturning-spur. The pilework must take its chance, " said Hitchcock. 

"All right. Roll up everything you can lay hands on. We'll give the gangfifteen minutes more to eat their grub. "

Close to the verandah stood a big night-gong, never used except forflood, or fire in the village. Hitchcock had called for a freshhorse, and was off to his side of the bridge when Findlayson took thecloth-bound stick and smote with the rubbing stroke that brings out thefull thunder of the metal. 

Long before the last rumble ceased every night-gong in the villagehad taken up the warning. To these were added the hoarse screaming ofconches in the little temples; the throbbing of drums and tom-toms; and, from the European quarters, where the riveters lived, McCartney'sbugle, a weapon of offence on Sundays and festivals, brayed desperately, calling to "Stables. " Engine after engine toiling home along the spursat the end of her day's work whistled in answer till the whistles wereanswered from the far bank. Then the big gong thundered thrice for asign that it was flood and not fire; conch, drum, and whistle echoed thecall, and the village quivered to the sound of bare feet running uponsoft earth. The order in all cases was to stand by the day's work andwait instructions. The gangs poured by in the dusk; men stopping toknot a loin-cloth or fasten a sandal; gang-foremen shouting to theirsubordinates as they ran or paused by the tool-issue sheds for barsand mattocks; locomotives creeping down their tracks wheel-deep inthe crowd; till the brown torrent disappeared into the dusk of theriver-bed, raced over the pilework, swarmed along the lattices, clustered by the cranes, and stood still each man in his place. 

Then the troubled beating of the gong carried the order to take upeverything and bear it beyond highwater mark, and the flare-lamps brokeout by the hundred between the webs of dull iron as the riveters began anight's work, racing against the flood that was to come. The girders ofthe three centre piers--those that stood on the cribs--were all but inposition. They needed just as many rivets as could be driven into them, for the flood would assuredly wash out their supports, and the ironworkwould settle down on the caps of stone if they were not blocked at theends. A hundred crowbars strained at the sleepers of the temporary linethat fed the unfinished piers. It was heaved up in lengths, loadedinto trucks, and backed up the bank beyond flood-level by the groaninglocomotives. The tool-sheds on the sands melted away before the attackof shouting armies, and with them went the stacked ranks of Governmentstores, iron-bound boxes of rivets, pliers, cutters, duplicate parts ofthe riveting-machines, spare pumps and chains. The big crane would bethe last to be shifted, for she was hoisting all the heavy stuff up tothe main structure of the bridge. The concrete blocks on the fleet ofstone-boats were dropped overside, where there was any depth of water, to guard the piers, and the empty boats themselves were poled under thebridge down-stream. It was here that Peroo's pipe shrilled loudest, forthe first stroke of the big gong had brought the dinghy back at racingspeed, and Peroo and his people were stripped to the waist, working forthe honour and credit which are better than life. 

"I knew she would speak, " he cried. "I knew, but the telegraph gives usgood warning. O sons of unthinkable begetting--children of unspeakableshame--are we here for the look of the thing?" It was two feet ofwire-rope frayed at the ends, and it did wonders as Peroo leaped fromgunnel to gunnel, shouting the language of the sea. 

Findlayson was more troubled for the stone-boats than anything else. McCartney, with his gangs, was blocking up the ends of the threedoubtful spans, but boats adrift, if the flood chanced to be a high one, might endanger the girders; and there was a very fleet in the shrunkenchannel. 

"Get them behind the swell of the guard-tower, " he shouted down toPeroo. "It will be dead-water there. Get them below the bridge. "

"Accha! [Very good. ] I know; we are mooring them with wire-rope, " wasthe answer. "Heh! I Listen to the Chota Sahib. He is working hard. "

From across the river came an almost continuous whistling oflocomotives, backed by the rumble of stone. Hitchcock at the last minutewas spending a few hundred more trucks of Tarakee stone in reinforcinghis spurs and embankments. 

"The bridge challenges Mother Gunga, " said Peroo, with a laugh. "Butwhen she talks I know whose voice will be the loudest. "

For hours the naked men worked, screaming and shouting under the lights. It was a hot, moonless night; the end of it was darkened by clouds and asudden squall that made Findlayson very grave. 

"She moves!" said Peroo, just before the dawn. "Mother Gunga is awake!Hear!" He dipped his hand over the side of a boat and the currentmumbled on it. A little wave hit the side of a pier with a crisp slap. 

"Six hours before her time, " said Findlayson, mopping his foreheadsavagely. "Now we can't depend on anything. We'd better clear all handsout of the river-bed. "

Again the big gong beat, and a second time there was the rushing ofnaked feet on earth and ringing iron; the clatter of tools ceased. Inthe silence, men heard the dry yawn of water crawling over thirsty sand. 

Foreman after foreman shouted to Findlayson, who had posted himself bythe guard-tower, that his section of the river-bed had been cleaned out, and when the last voice dropped Findlayson hurried over the bridgetill the iron plating of the permanent way gave place to the temporaryplank-walk over the three centre piers, and there he met Hitchcock. 

"All clear your side?" said Findlayson. The whisper rang in the box oflatticework. 

"Yes, and the east channel's filling now. We're utterly out of ourreckoning. When is this thing down on us?"

"There's no saying. She's filling as fast as she can. Look!" Findlaysonpointed to the planks below his feet, where the sand, burned and defiledby months of work, was beginning to whisper and fizz. 

"What orders?" said Hitchcock. 

"Call the roll--count stores--sit on your hunkers--and pray for thebridge. That's all I can think of. Good night. Don't risk your lifetrying to fish out anything that may go down-stream. "

"Oh, I'll be as prudent as you are! 'Night. Heavens, how she's filling!Here's the rain in earnest!" Findlayson picked his way back to his bank, sweeping the last of McCartney's riveters before him. The gangs hadspread themselves along the embankments, regardless of the cold rain ofthe dawn, and there they waited for the flood. Only Peroo kept his mentogether behind the swell of the guard-tower, where the stone-boats laytied fore and aft with hawsers, wire-rope, and chains. 

A shrill wail ran along the line, growing to a yell, half fear and halfwonder: the face of the river whitened from bank to bank between thestone facings, and the faraway spurs went out in spouts of foam. MotherGunga had come bank-high in haste, and a wall of chocolate-colouredwater was her messenger. There was a shriek above the roar of the water, the complaint of the spans coming down on their blocks as the cribs werewhirled out from under their bellies. The stone-boats groaned and groundeach other in the eddy that swung round the abutment, and their clumsymasts rose higher and higher against the dim sky-line. 

"Before she was shut between these walls we knew what she would do. Now she is thus cramped God only knows what she will do!" said Peroo, watching the furious turmoil round the guard-tower. "Ohe! Fight, then!Fight hard, for it is thus that a woman wears herself out. "

But Mother Gunga would not fight as Peroo desired. After the firstdown-stream plunge there came no more walls of water, but the riverlifted herself bodily, as a snake when she drinks in midsummer, pluckingand fingering along the revetments, and banking up behind the piers tilleven Findlayson began to recalculate the strength of his work. 

When day came the village gasped. "Only last night, " men said, turningto each other, "it was as a town in the river-bed! Look now!"

And they looked and wondered afresh at the deep water, the racing waterthat licked the throat of the piers. The farther bank was veiled byrain, into which the bridge ran out and vanished; the spurs up-streamwere marked by no more than eddies and spoutings, and down-stream thepent river, once freed of her guide-lines, had spread like a sea tothe horizon. Then hurried by, rolling in the water, dead men and oxentogether, with here and there a patch of thatched roof that melted whenit touched a pier. 

"Big flood, " said Peroo, and Findlayson nodded. It was as big a flood ashe had any wish to watch. His bridge would stand what was upon hernow, but not very much more, and if by any of a thousand chances therehappened to be a weakness in the embankments, Mother Gunga would carryhis honour to the sea with the other raffle. Worst of all, there wasnothing to do except to sit still; and Findlayson sat still under hismacintosh till his helmet became pulp on his head, and his boots wereover-ankle in mire. He took no count of time, for the river was markingthe hours, inch by inch and foot by foot, along the embankment, andhe listened, numb and hungry, to the straining of the stone-boats, thehollow thunder under the piers, and the hundred noises that make thefull note of a flood. Once a dripping servant brought him food, but hecould not eat; and once he thought that he heard a faint toot from alocomotive across the river, and then he smiled. The bridge's failurewould hurt his assistant not a little, but Hitchcock was a youngman with his big work yet to do. For himself the crash meanteverything--everything that made a hard life worth the living. Theywould say, the men of his own profession. . . He remembered the halfpitying things that he himself had said when Lockhart's new waterworksburst and broke down in brickheaps and sludge, and Lockhart's spiritbroke in him and he died. He remembered what he himself had said whenthe Sumao Bridge went out in the big cyclone by the sea; and most heremembered poor Hartopp's face three weeks later, when the shame hadmarked it. His bridge was twice the size of Hartopp's, and it carriedthe Findlayson truss as well as the new pier-shoe--the Findlayson boltedshoe. There were no excuses in his service. Government might listen, perhaps, but his own kind would judge him by his bridge, as that stoodor fell. He went over it in his head, plate by plate, span by span, brick by brick, pier by pier, remembering, comparing, estimating, andrecalculating, lest there should be any mistake; and through the longhours and through the flights of formulae that danced and wheeled beforehim a cold fear would come to pinch his heart. His side of the sum wasbeyond question; but what man knew Mother Gunga's arithmetic? Even ashe was making all sure by the multiplication-table, the river might bescooping a pot-hole to the very bottom of any one of those eighty-footpiers that carried his reputation. Again a servant came to him withfood, but his mouth was dry, and he could only drink and return to thedecimals in his brain. And the river was still rising. Peroo, in a matshelter-coat, crouched at his feet, watching now his face and now theface of the river, but saying nothing. 

At last the Lascar rose and floundered through the mud towards thevillage, but he was careful to leave an ally to watch the boats. 

Presently he returned, most irreverently driving before him the priestof his creed--a fat old man, with a grey beard that whipped the windwith the wet cloth that blew over his shoulder. Never was seen solamentable a guru. 

"What good are offerings and little kerosene lamps and dry grain, "shouted Peroo, "if squatting in the mud is all that thou canst do? Thouhast dealt long with the Gods when they were contented and well-wishing. Now they are angry. Speak to them!"

"What is a man against the wrath of Gods?" whined the priest, coweringas the wind took him. "Let me go to the temple, and I will pray there. "

"Son of a pig, pray here! Is there no return for salt fish and currypowder and dried onions? Call aloud! Tell Mother Gunga we have hadenough. Bid her be still for the night. I cannot pray, but I have beenserving in the Kumpani's boats, and when men did not obey my orders I--"A flourish of the wire-rope colt rounded the sentence, and the priest, breaking free from his disciple, fled to the village. 

"Fat pig!" said Peroo. "After all that we have done for him! When theflood is down I will see to it that we get a new guru. Finlinson Sahib, it darkens for night now, and since yesterday nothing has been eaten. Bewise, Sahib. No man can endure watching and great thinking on an emptybelly. Lie down, Sahib. The river will do what the river will do. "

"The bridge is mine; I cannot leave it. "

"Wilt thou hold it up with thy hands, then?" said Peroo, laughing. "Iwas troubled for my boats and sheers before the flood came. Now we arein the hands of the Gods. The Sahib will not eat and lie down? Takethese, then. They are meat and good toddy together, and they kill allweariness, besides the fever that follows the rain. I have eaten nothingelse to-day at all. "

He took a small tin tobacco-box from his sodden waistbelt and thrust itinto Findlayson's hand, saying, "Nay, do not be afraid. It is no morethan opium--clean Malwa opium!"

Findlayson shook two or three of the dark-brown pellets into his hand, and hardly knowing what he did, swallowed them. The stuff was at leasta good guard against fever--the fever that was creeping upon him out ofthe wet mud--and he had seen what Peroo could do in the stewing mists ofautumn on the strength of a dose from the tin box. 

Peroo nodded with bright eyes. "In a little--in a little the Sahibwill find that he thinks well again. I too will--" He dived into histreasure-box, resettled the rain-coat over his head, and squatted downto watch the boats. It was too dark now to see beyond the first pier, and the night seemed to have given the river new strength. Findlaysonstood with his chin on his chest, thinking. There was one point aboutone of the piers--the seventh--that he had not fully settled in hismind. The figures would not shape themselves to the eye except one byone and at enormous intervals of time. There was a sound rich and mellowin his ears like the deepest note of a double-bass--an entrancing soundupon which he pondered for several hours, as it seemed. Then Peroowas at his elbow, shouting that a wire hawser had snapped and thestone-boats were loose. Findlayson saw the fleet open and swing outfanwise to a long-drawn shriek of wire straining across gunnels. 

"A tree hit them. They will all go, " cried Peroo. "The main hawser hasparted. What does the Sahib do?"

An immensely complex plan had suddenly flashed into Findlayson'smind. He saw the ropes running from boat to boat in straight lines andangles--each rope a line of white fire. But there was one rope which wasthe master rope. He could see that rope. If he could pull it once, itwas absolutely and mathematically certain that the disordered fleetwould reassemble itself in the backwater behind the guard-tower. Butwhy, he wondered, was Peroo clinging so desperately to his waist as hehastened down the bank? It was necessary to put the Lascar aside, gentlyand slowly, because it was necessary to save the boats, and, further, to demonstrate the extreme ease of the problem that looked so difficult. And then--but it was of no conceivable importance--a wirerope racedthrough his hand, burning it, the high bank disappeared, and with itall the slowly dispersing factors of the problem. He was sitting in therainy darkness--sitting in a boat that spun like a top, and Peroo wasstanding over him. 

"I had forgotten, " said the Lascar, slowly, "that to those fasting andunused, the opium is worse than any wine. Those who die in Gunga go tothe Gods. Still, I have no desire to present myself before such greatones. Can the Sahib swim?"

"What need? He can fly--fly as swiftly as the wind, " was the thickanswer. 

"He is mad!" muttered Peroo, under his breath. "And he threw me asidelike a bundle of dung-cakes. Well, he will not know his death. The boatcannot live an hour here even if she strike nothing. It is not good tolook at death with a clear eye. "

He refreshed himself again from the tin box, squatted down in the bowsof the reeling, pegged, and stitched craft, staring through the mist atthe nothing that was there. A warm drowsiness crept over Findlayson, the Chief Engineer, whose duty was with his bridge. The heavy raindropsstruck him with a thousand tingling little thrills, and the weight ofall time since time was made hung heavy on his eyelids. He thought andperceived that he was perfectly secure, for the water was so solid thata man could surely step out upon it, and, standing still with his legsapart to keep his balance--this was the most important point--would beborne with great and easy speed to the shore. But yet a better plan cameto him. It needed only an exertion of will for the soul to hurl thebody ashore as wind drives paper, to waft it kite-fashion to the bank. Thereafter--the boat spun dizzily--suppose the high wind got under thefreed body? Would it tower up like a kite and pitch headlong on thefar-away sands, or would it duck about, beyond control, through alleternity? Findlayson gripped the gunnel to anchor himself, for it seemedthat he was on the edge of taking the flight before he had settled allhis plans. Opium has more effect on the white man than the black. Peroowas only comfortably indifferent to accidents. "She cannot live, " hegrunted. "Her seams open already. If she were even a dinghy with oarswe could have ridden it out; but a box with holes is no good. FinlinsonSahib, she fills. "

"Accha! I am going away. Come thou also. "

In his mind, Findlayson had already escaped from the boat, and wascircling high in air to find a rest for the sole of his foot. Hisbody--he was really sorry for its gross helplessness--lay in the stern, the water rushing about its knees. 

"How very ridiculous!" he said to himself, from his eyrie--"that isFindlayson--chief of the Kashi Bridge. The poor beast is going tobe drowned, too. Drowned when it's close to shore. I'm--I'm onshorealready. Why doesn't it come along. "

To his intense disgust, he found his soul back in his body again, andthat body spluttering and choking in deep water. The pain of the reunionwas atrocious, but it was necessary, also, to fight for the body. He wasconscious of grasping wildly at wet sand, and striding prodigiously, asone strides in a dream, to keep foothold in the swirling water, tillat last he hauled himself clear of the hold of the river, and dropped, panting, on wet earth. 

"Not this night, " said Peroo, in his ear. "The Gods have protectedus. " The Lascar moved his feet cautiously, and they rustled among driedstumps. "This is some island of last year's indigo-crop, " he went on. "We shall find no men here; but have great care, Sahib; all the snakesof a hundred miles have been flooded out. Here comes the lightning, on the heels of the wind. Now we shall be able to look; but walkcarefully. "

Findlayson was far and far beyond any fear of snakes, or indeed anymerely human emotion. He saw, after he had rubbed the water from hiseyes, with an immense clearness, and trod, so it seemed to himself, withworld-encompassing strides. Somewhere in the night of time he had builta bridge--a bridge that spanned illimitable levels of shining seas; butthe Deluge had swept it away, leaving this one island under heaven forFindlayson and his companion, sole survivors of the breed of Man. 

An incessant lightning, forked and blue, showed all that there was tobe seen on the little patch in the flood--a clump of thorn, a clumpof swaying creaking bamboos, and a grey gnarled peepul overshadowing aHindoo shrine, from whose dome floated a tattered red flag. The holy manwhose summer resting-place it was had long since abandoned it, andthe weather had broken the red-daubed image of his god. The two menstumbled, heavy limbed and heavy-eyed, over the ashes of a brick-setcooking-place, and dropped down under the shelter of the branches, whilethe rain and river roared together. 

The stumps of the indigo crackled, and there was a smell of cattle, as ahuge and dripping Brahminee bull shouldered his way under the tree. Theflashes revealed the trident mark of Shiva on his flank, the insolenceof head and hump, the luminous stag-like eyes, the brow crowned with awreath of sodden marigold blooms, and the silky dewlap that almost sweptthe ground. There was a noise behind him of other beasts coming upfrom the floodline through the thicket, a sound of heavy feet and deepbreathing. 

"Here be more beside ourselves, " said Findlayson, his head against thetree-pole, looking through half-shut eyes, wholly at ease. 

"Truly, " said Peroo, thickly, "and no small ones. "

"What are they, then? I do not see clearly. "

"The Gods. Who else? Look!"

"Ah, true! The Gods surely--the Gods. " Findlayson smiled as his headfell forward on his chest. Peroo was eminently right. After the Flood, who should be alive in the land except the Gods that made it--the Godsto whom his village prayed nightly--the Gods who were in all men'smouths and about all men's ways. He could not raise his head or stir afinger for the trance that held him, and Peroo was smiling vacantly atthe lightning. 

The Bull paused by the shrine, his head lowered to the damp earth. Agreen Parrot in the branches preened his wet wings and screamed againstthe thunder as the circle under the tree filled with the shiftingshadows of beasts. There was a black Buck at the Bull's heels--such aBuck as Findlayson in his far-away life upon earth might have seen indreams--a Buck with a royal head, ebon back, silver belly, and gleamingstraight horns. Beside him, her head bowed to the ground, the green eyesburning under the heavy brows, with restless tail switching the deadgrass, paced a Tigress, full-bellied and deep-jowled. 

The Bull crouched beside the shrine, and there leaped from the darknessa monstrous grey Ape, who seated himself man-wise in the place of thefallen image, and the rain spilled like jewels from the hair of his neckand shoulders. 

Other shadows came and went behind the circle, among them a drunken Manflourishing staff and drinking-bottle. Then a hoarse bellow broke outfrom near the ground. "The flood lessens even now, " it cried. "Hour byhour the water falls, and their bridge still stands!"

"My bridge, " said Findlayson to himself. "That must be very old worknow. What have the Gods to do with my bridge?"

His eyes rolled in the darkness following the roar. A Mugger--theblunt-nosed, ford-haunting Mugger of the Ganges--draggled herself beforethe beasts, lashing furiously to right and left with her tail. 

"They have made it too strong for me. In all this night I have only tornaway a handful of planks. The walls stand. The towers stand. They havechained my flood, and the river is not free any more. Heavenly Ones, take this yoke away! Give me clear water between bank and bank! It is I, Mother Gunga, that speak. The Justice of the Gods! Deal me the Justiceof the Gods!"

"What said I?" whispered Peroo. "This is in truth a Punchayet of theGods. Now we know that all the world is dead, save you and I, Sahib. "

The Parrot screamed and fluttered again, and the Tigress, her ears flatto her head, snarled wickedly. 

Somewhere in the shadow, a great trunk and gleaming tusks swayed to andfro, and a low gurgle broke the silence that followed on the snarl. 

"We be here, " said a deep voice, "the Great Ones. One only and verymany. Shiv, my father, is here, with Indra. Kali has spoken already. Hanuman listens also. "

"Kashi is without her Kotwal tonight, " shouted the Man with thedrinking-bottle, flinging his staff to the ground, while the island rangto the baying of hounds. "Give her the Justice of the Gods. "

"Ye were still when they polluted my waters, " the great Crocodilebellowed. "Ye made no sign when my river was trapped between the walls. I had no help save my own strength, and that failed--the strength ofMother Gunga failed--before their guard-towers. What could I do? I havedone everything. Finish now, Heavenly Ones!"

"I brought the death; I rode the spotted sickness from hut to hut oftheir workmen, and yet they would not cease. " A nose-slitten, hide-wornAss, lame, scissor-legged, and galled, limped forward. "I cast the deathat them out of my nostrils, but they would not cease. "

Peroo would have moved, but the opium lay heavy upon him. 

"Bah!" he said, spitting. "Here is Sitala herself; Mata--the smallpox. Has the Sahib a handkerchief to put over his face?"

"Little help! They fed me the corpses for a month, and I flung them outon my sand-bars, but their work went forward. Demons they are, and sonsof demons! And ye left Mother Gunga alone for their fire-carriage tomake a mock of. The Justice of the Gods on the bridge-builders!"

The Bull turned the cud in his mouth and answered slowly: "If theJustice of the Gods caught all who made a mock of holy things therewould be many dark altars in the land, mother. "

"But this goes beyond a mock, " said the Tigress, darting forward agriping paw. "Thou knowest, Shiv, and ye, too, Heavenly Ones; ye knowthat they have defiled Gunga. Surely they must come to the Destroyer. Let Indra judge. "

The Buck made no movement as he answered: "How long has this evil been?"

"Three years, as men count years, " said the Mugger, close pressed to theearth. 

"Does Mother Gunga die, then, in a year, that she is so anxious tosee vengeance now? The deep sea was where she runs but yesterday, andtomorrow the sea shall cover her again as the Gods count that which mencall time. Can any say that this their bridge endures till tomorrow?"said the Buck. 

There was along hush, and in the clearing of the storm the full moonstood up above the dripping trees. 

"Judge ye, then, " said the River, sullenly. "I have spoken my shame. Theflood falls still. I can do no more. "

"For my own part"--it was the voice of the great Ape seated within theshrine--"it pleases me well to watch these men, remembering that I alsobuilded no small bridge in the world's youth. "

"They say, too, " snarled the Tiger, "that these men came of the wreck ofthy armies, Hanuman, and therefore thou hast aided--"

"They toil as my armies toiled in Lanka, and they believe that theirtoil endures. Indra is too high, but Shiv, thou knowest how the land isthreaded with their fire-carriages. "

"Yea, I know, " said the Bull. "Their Gods instructed them in thematter. "

A laugh ran round the circle. 

"Their Gods! What should their Gods know? They were born yesterday, andthose that made them are scarcely yet cold, " said the Mugger, "tomorrowtheir Gods will die. "

"Ho!" said Peroo. "Mother Gunga talks good talk. I told that to thepadre-sahib who preached on the Mombassa, and he asked the Burra Malumto put me in irons for a great rudeness. "

"Surely they make these things to please their Gods, " said the Bullagain. 

"Not altogether, " the Elephant rolled forth. "It is for the profit of mymahajuns fat money-lenders that worship me at each new year, when theydraw my image at the head of the account-books. I, looking over theirshoulders by lamplight, see that the names in the books are those ofmen in far places--for all the towns are drawn together by thefire-carriage, and the money comes and goes swiftly, and theaccount-books grow as fat as myself. And I, who am Ganesh of Good Luck, I bless my peoples. "

"They have changed the face of the land-which is my land. They havekilled and made new towns on my banks, " said the Mugger. 

"It is but the shifting of a little dirt. Let the dirt dig in the dirtif it pleases the dirt, " answered the Elephant. 

"But afterwards?" said the Tiger. "Afterwards they will see that MotherGunga can avenge no insult, and they fall away from her first, and laterfrom us all, one by one. In the end, Ganesh, we are left with nakedaltars. "

The drunken Man staggered to his feet, and hiccupped vehemently. 

"Kali lies. My sister lies. Also this my stick is the Kotwal of Kashi, and he keeps tally of my pilgrims. When the time comes to worshipBhairon--and it is always time--the fire-carriages move one by one, andeach hears a thousand pilgrims. They do not come afoot any more, butrolling upon wheels, and my honour is increased. "

"Gunga, I have seen thy bed at Pryag black with the pilgrims, " said theApe, leaning forward, "and but for the fire-carriage they would havecome slowly and in fewer numbers. Remember. "

"They come to me always, " Bhairon went on thickly. "By day and nightthey pray to me, all the Common People in the fields and the roads. Whois like Bhairon today? What talk is this of changing faiths? Is my staffKotwal of Kashi for nothing? He keeps the tally, and he says that neverwere so many altars as today, and the fire carriage serves them well. Bhairon am I--Bhairon of the Common People, and the chiefest of titheHeavenly Ones today. Also my staff says--"

"Peace, thou!" lowed the Bull. "The worship of the schools is mine, and they talk very wisely, asking whether I be one or many, as is thedelight of my people, and ye know what I am. Kali, my wife, thou knowestalso. "

"Yea, I know, " said the Tigress, with lowered head. 

"Greater am I than Gunga also. For ye know who moved the minds of menthat they should count Gunga holy among the rivers. Who die in thatwater--ye know how men say--come to us without punishment, and Gungaknows that the fire-carriage has borne to her scores upon scores of suchanxious ones; and Kali knows that she has held her chiefest festivalsamong the pilgrimages that are fed by the fire-carriage. Who smote atPooree, under the Image there, her thousands in a day and a night, andbound the sickness to the wheels of the fire-carriages, so that itran from one end of the land to the other? Who but Kali? Before thefire-carriage came it was a heavy toil. The fire-carriages have servedthee well, Mother of Death. But I speak for mine own altars, who am notBhairon of the Common Folk, but Shiv. Men go to and fro, making wordsand telling talk of strange Gods, and I listen. Faith follows faithamong my people in the schools, and I have no anger; for when all wordsare said, and the new talk is ended, to Shiv men return at the last. "

"True. It is true, " murmured Hanuman. "To Shiv and to the others, mother, they return. I creep from temple to temple in the North, wherethey worship one God and His Prophet; and presently my image is alonewithin their shrines. "

"Small thanks, " said the Buck, turning his head slowly. "I am that Oneand His Prophet also. "

"Even so, father, " said Hanuman. "And to the South I go who am theoldest of the Gods as men know the Gods, and presently I touchthe shrines of the New 'Faith and the Woman whom we know is hewntwelve-armed, and still they call her Mary. "

"Small thanks, brother, " said the Tigress. "I am that Woman. "

"Even so, sister; and I go West among the fire-carriages, and standbefore the bridge-builders in many shapes, and because of me they changetheir faiths and are very wise. Ho! ho! I am the builder of bridges, indeed--bridges between this and that, and each bridge leads surely toUs in the end. Be content, Gunga. 

"Neither these men nor those that follow them mock thee at all. "

"Am I alone, then, Heavenly Ones? Shall I smooth out my flood lestunhappily I bear away their walls? Will Indra dry my springs in thehills and make me crawl humbly between their wharfs? Shall I bury me inthe sand ere I offend?"

"And all for the sake of a little iron bar with the fire-carriage atop. Truly, Mother Gunga is always young!" said Ganesh the Elephant. "Achild had not spoken more foolishly. Let the dirt dig in the dirt ere itreturn to the dirt. I know only that my people grow rich and praiseme. Shiv has said that the men of the schools do not forget; Bhairon iscontent for his crowd of the Common People; and Hanuman laughs. "

"Surely I laugh, " said the Ape. "My altars are few beside those ofGanesh or Bhairon, but the fire-carriages bring me new worshippers frombeyond the Black Water--the men who believe that their God is toil. Irun before them beckoning, and they follow Hanuman. "

"Give them the toil that they desire, then, " said the River. "Make a baracross my flood and throw the water back upon the bridge. Once thou waststrong in Lanka, Hanuman. Stoop and lift my bed. "

"Who gives life can take life. " The Ape scratched in the mud with a longforefinger. "And yet, who would profit by the killing? Very many woulddie. "

There came up from the water a snatch of a love-song such as the boyssing when they watch their cattle in the noon heats of late spring. TheParrot screamed joyously, sidling along his branch with lowered head asthe song grew louder, and in a patch of clear moonlight stood revealedthe young herd, the darling of the Gopis, the idol of dreaming maidsand of mothers ere their children are born--Krishna the Well-beloved. He stooped to knot up his long wet hair, and the parrot fluttered to hisshoulder. 

"Fleeting and singing, and singing and fleeting, " hiccupped Bhairon. "Those make thee late for the council, brother. "

"And then?" said Krishna, with a laugh, throwing back his head. "Ye cando little without me or Karma here. " He fondled the Parrot's plumageand laughed again. "What is this sitting and talking together? I heardMother Gunga roaring in the dark, and so came quickly from a but where Ilay warm. And what have ye done to Karma, that he is so wet and silent?And what does Mother Gunga here? Are the heavens full that ye must comepaddling in the mud beast-wise? Karma, what do they do?"

"Gunga has prayed for a vengeance on the bridgebuilders, and Kali iswith her. Now she bids Hanuman whelm the bridge, that her honour may bemade great, " cried the Parrot. "I waited here, knowing that thou wouldstcome, O my master!"

"And the Heavenly Ones said nothing? Did Gunga and the Mother of Sorrowsout-talk them? Did none speak for my people?"

"Nay, " said Ganesh, moving uneasily from foot to foot; "I said it wasbut dirt at play, and why should we stamp it flat?"

"I was content to let them toil--well content, " said Hanuman. 

"What had I to do with Gunga's anger?" said the Bull. 

"I am Bhairon of the Common Folk, and this my staff is Kotwal of allKashi. I spoke for the Common People. "

"Thou?" The young God's eyes sparkled. 

"Am I not the first of the Gods in their mouths today?" returnedBhairon, unabashed. "For the sake of the Common People I said very manywise things which I have now forgotten, but this my staff--"

Krishna turned impatiently, saw the Mugger at his feet, and kneeling, slipped an arm round the cold neck. "Mother, " he said gently, "get theeto thy flood again. This matter is not for thee. What harm shall thyhonour take of this live dirt? Thou hast given them their fields newyear after year, and by thy flood they are made strong. They come all tothee at the last. What need to slay them now? Have pity, mother, for alittle and it is only for a little. "

"If it be only for a little--" the slow beast began. 

"Are they Gods, then?" Krishna, returned with a laugh, his eyes lookinginto the dull eyes of the River. "Be certain that it is only for alittle. The Heavenly Ones have heard thee, and presently justice willbe done. Go now, mother, to the flood again. Men and cattle are thick onthe waters--the banks fall--the villages melt because of thee. "

"But the bridge-the bridge stands. " The Mugger turned grunting into theundergrowth as Krishna rose. 

"It is ended, " said the Tigress, viciously. "There is no more justicefrom the Heavenly Ones. Ye have made shame and sport of Gunga, who askedno more than a few score lives. "

"Of my people--who lie under the leaf-roofs of the village yonder--ofthe young girls, and the young men who sing to them in the dark of thechild that will be born next morn--of that which was begotten tonight, "said Krishna. "And when all is done, what profit? Tomorrow sees them atwork. Ay, if ye swept the bridge out from end to end they would beginanew. Hear me! Bhairon is drunk always. Hanuman mocks his people withnew riddles. "

"Nay, but they are very old ones, " the Ape said, laughing. 

"Shiv hears the talk of the schools and the dreams of the holy men;Ganesh thinks only of his fat traders; but I--I live with these mypeople, asking for no gifts, and so receiving them hourly. "

"And very tender art thou of thy people, " said the Tigress. 

"They are my own. The old women dream of me turning in their sleep; themaids look and listen for me when they go to fill their lotahs by theriver. I walk by the young men waiting without the gates at dusk, and Icall over my shoulder to the whitebeards. Ye know, Heavenly Ones, that Ialone of us all walk upon the earth continually, and have no pleasurein our heavens so long as a green blade springs here, or there are twovoices at twilight in the standing crops. Wise are ye, but ye livefar off, forgetting whence ye came. So do I not forget. And thefire-carriage feeds your shrines, ye say? And the fire-carriages bringa thousand pilgrims where but ten came in the old years? True. That istrue, today. "

"But tomorrow they are dead, brother, " said Ganesh. 

"Peace!" said the Bull, as Hanuman leaned forward again. "And tomorrow, beloved--what of tomorrow?"

"This only. A new word creeping from mouth to mouth among the CommonFolk--a word that neither man nor God can lay hold of--an evil word--alittle lazy word among the Common Folk, saying (and none know who setthat word afoot) that they weary of ye, Heavenly Ones. "

The Gods laughed together softly. "And then, beloved?" they said. 

"And to cover that weariness they, my people, will bring to thee, Shiv, and to thee, Ganesh, at first greater offerings and a louder noise ofworship. But the word has gone abroad, and, after, they will pay fewerdues to our fat Brahmins. Next they will forget your altars, but soslowly that no man can say how his forgetfulness began. 

"I knew--I knew! I spoke this also, but they would not hear, " said theTigress. "We should have slain--we should have slain!"

"It is too late now. Ye should have slain at the beginning when the menfrom across the water had taught our folk nothing. Now my people seetheir work, and go away thinking. They do not think of the Heavenly Onesaltogether. They think of the fire-carriage and the other things thatthe bridge-builders have done, and when your priests thrust forwardhands asking alms, they give a little unwillingly. That is thebeginning, among one or two, or five or ten--for I, moving among mypeople, know what is in their hearts. "

"And the end, Jester of the Gods? What shall the end be?" said Ganesh. 

"The end shall be as it was in the beginning, O slothful son of Shiv!The flame shall die upon the altars and the prayer upon the tongue tillye become little Gods again--Gods of the jungle--names that the huntersof rats and noosers of dogs whisper in the thicket and among thecaves--rag-Gods, pot Godlings of the tree, and the villagemark, asye were at the beginning. That is the end, Ganesh, for thee, and forBhairon--Bhairon of the Common People. "

"It is very far away, " grunted Bhairon. "Also, it is a lie. "

"Many women have kissed Krishna. They told him this to cheer their ownhearts when the grey hairs came, and he has told us the tale, " said theBull, below his breath. 

"Their Gods came, and we changed them. I took the Woman and made hertwelve-armed. So shall we twist all their Gods, " said Hanuman. 

"Their Gods! This is no question of their Gods--one or three--man orwoman. The matter is with the people. They move, and not the Gods of thebridgebuilders, " said Krishna. 

"So be it. I have made a man worship the fire-carriage as it stood stillbreathing smoke, and he knew not that he worshipped me, " said Hanumanthe Ape. "They will only change a little the names of their Gods. I shall lead the builders of the bridges as of old; Shiv shall beworshipped in the schools by such as doubt and despise their fellows;Ganesh shall have his mahajuns, and Bhairon the donkey-drivers, thepilgrims, and the sellers of toys. Beloved, they will do no more thanchange the names, and that we have seen a thousand times. "

"Surely they will do no more than change the names, " echoed Ganesh; butthere was an uneasy movement among the Gods. 

"They will change more than the names. Me alone they cannot kill, solong as a maiden and a man meet together or the spring follows thewinter rains. Heavenly Ones, not for nothing have I walked upon theearth. My people know not now what they know; but I, who live withthem, I read their hearts. Great Kings, the beginning of the end is bornalready. The fire-carriages shout the names of new Gods that are not theold under new names. Drink now and eat greatly! Bathe your faces in thesmoke of the altars before they grow cold! Take dues and listen to thecymbals and the drums, Heavenly Ones, while yet there are flowers andsongs. As men count time the end is far off; but as we who know reckonit is today. I have spoken. "

The young God ceased, and his brethren looked at each other long insilence. 

"This I have not heard before, " Peroo whispered in his companion's ear. "And yet sometimes, when I oiled the brasses in the engine-room of theGoorkha, I have wondered if our priests were so wise--so wise. The dayis coming, Sahib. They will be gone by the morning. "

A yellow light broadened in the sky, and the tone of the river changedas the darkness withdrew. 

Suddenly the Elephant trumpeted aloud as though man had goaded him. 

"Let Indra judge. Father of all, speak thou! What of the things we haveheard? Has Krishna lied indeed? Or--"

"Ye know, " said the Buck, rising to his feet. "Ye know the Riddle of theGods. When Brahm ceases to dream, the Heavens and the Hells and Earthdisappear. Be content. Brahm dreams still. The dreams come and go, andthe nature of the dreams changes, but still Brahm dreams. Krishna haswalked too long upon earth, and yet I love him the more for the tale hehas told. The Gods change, beloved-all save One!"

"Ay, all save one that makes love in the hearts of men, " said Krishna, knotting his girdle. "It is but a little time to wait, and ye shall knowif I lie. "

"Truly it is but a little time, as thou sayest, and we shall know. Getthee to thy huts again, beloved, and make sport for the young things, for still Brahm dreams. Go, my children! Brahm dreams--and till he wakesthe Gods die not. "

"Whither went they?" said the Lascar, awe-struck, shivering a littlewith the cold. 

"God knows!" said Findlayson. The river and the island lay in fulldaylight now, and there was never mark of hoof or pug on the wet earthunder the peepul. Only a parrot screamed in the branches, bringing downshowers of water-drops as he fluttered his wings. 

"Up! We are cramped with cold! Has the opium died out? Canst thou move, Sahib?"

Findlayson staggered to his feet and shook himself. His head swamand ached, but the work of the opium was over, and, as he sluiced hisforehead in a pool, the Chief Engineer of the Kashi Bridge was wonderinghow he had managed to fall upon the island, what chances the day offeredof return, and, above all, how his work stood. 

"Peroo, I have forgotten much. I was under the guard-tower watching theriver; and then. . . . Did the flood sweep us away?"

"No. The boats broke loose, Sahib, and" (if the Sahib had forgottenabout the opium, decidedly Peroo would not remind him) "in striving toretie them, so it seemed to me--but it was darka rope caught the Sahiband threw him upon a boat. Considering that we two, with HitchcockSahib, built, as it were, that bridge, I came also upon the boat, whichcame riding on horseback, as it were, on the nose of this island, andso, splitting, cast us ashore. I made a great cry when the boat left thewharf, and without doubt Hitchcock Sahib will come for us. As for thebridge, so many have died in the building that it cannot fall. "

A fierce sun, that drew out all the smell of the sodden land, hadfollowed the storm, and in that clear light there was no room for a manto think of the dreams of the dark. Findlayson stared up-stream, acrossthe blaze of moving water, till his eyes ached. There was no sign of anybank to the Ganges, much less of a bridgeline. 

"We came down far, " he said. "It was wonderful that we were not drowneda hundred times. "

"That was the least of the wonder, for no man dies before his time. I have seen Sydney, I have seen London, and twenty great ports, but"--Peroo looked at the damp, discoloured shrine under thepeopul--"never man has seen that we saw here. "

"What?"

"Has the Sahib forgotten; or do we black men only see the Gods?"

"There was a fever upon me. " Findlayson was still looking uneasilyacross the water. "It seemed that the island was full of beasts and mentalking, but I do not remember. A boat could live in this water now, Ithink. "

"Oho! Then it is true. 'When Brahm ceases to dream, the Gods die. ' Now Iknow, indeed, what he meant. Once, too, the guru said as much to me; butthen I did not understand. Now I am wise. "

"What?" said Findlayson, over his shoulder. 

Peroo went on as if he were talking to himself. "Six-seven-ten monsoonssince, I was watch on the fo'c'sle of the ehwah--the Kumpani's bigboat-and there was a big tufan; green and black water beating, and Iheld fast to the life-lines, choking under the waters. Then I thoughtof the Gods--of Those whom we saw tonight"--he stared curiously atFindlayson's back, but the white man was looking across the flood. "Yes, I say of Those whom we saw this night past, and I called upon Them toprotect me. And while I prayed, still keeping my lookout, a big wavecame and threw me forward upon the ring of the great black bowanchor, and the Rewah rose high and high, leaning towards the lefthand side, and the water drew away from beneath her nose, and I lay upon my belly, holding the ring, and looking down into those great deeps. Then Ithought, even in the face of death: If I lose hold I die, and for meneither the Rewah nor my place by the galley where the rice is cooked, nor Bombay, nor Calcutta, nor even London, will be any more for me. 'Howshall I be sure, ' I said, that the Gods to whom I pray will abide atall?' This I thought, and the Rewah dropped her nose as a hammer falls, and all the sea came in and slid me backwards along the fo'c'sle andover the break of the fo'c'sle, and I very badly bruised my shin againstthe donkey-engine: but I did not die, and I have seen the Gods. They aregood for live men, but for the dead. . . They have spoken Themselves. Therefore, when I come to the village I will beat the guru for talkingriddles which are no riddles. When Brahm ceases to dream the Gods go. "

"Look up-stream. The light blinds. Is there smoke yonder?"

Peroo shaded his eyes with his hands. "He is a wise man and quick. Hitchcock Sahib would not trust a rowboat. He has borrowed the RaoSahib's steam launch, and comes to look for us. I have always said thatthere should have been a steam-launch on the bridge works for us. "

The territory of the Rao of Baraon lay within ten miles of the bridge;and Findlayson and Hitchcock had spent a fair portion of their scantyleisure in playing billiards and shooting black-buck with the young man. He had been bear-led by an English tutor of sporting tastes for somefive or six years, and was now royally wasting the revenues accumulatedduring his minority by the Indian Government. His steam-launch, with itssilverplated rails, striped silk awning, and mahogany decks, was a newtoy which Findlayson had found horribly in the way when the Rao came tolook at the bridge works. 

"It's great luck, " murmured Findlayson, but he was none the less afraid, wondering what news might be of the bridge. 

The gaudy blue and white funnel came down-stream swiftly. They could seeHitchcock in the bows, with a pair of opera-glasses, and his face wasunusually white. Then Peroo hailed, and the launch made for the tailof the island. The Rao Sahib, in tweed shooting-suit and a seven-huedturban, waved his royal hand, and Hitchcock shouted. But he need haveasked no questions, for Findlayson's first demand was for his bridge. 

"All serene! Gad, I never expected to see you again, Findlayson. You'reseven koss down-stream. Yes; there's not a stone shifted anywhere; buthow are you? I borrowed the Rao Sahib's launch, and he was good enoughto come along. Jump in. "

"Ah, Finlinson, you are very well, eh? That was most unprecedentedcalamity last night, eh? My royal palace, too, it leaks like the devil, and the crops will also be short all about my country. Now you shallback her out, Hitchcock. I--I do not understand steam engines. You arewet? You are cold, Finlinson? I have some things to eat here, and youwill take a good drink. "

"I'm immensely grateful, Rao Sahib. I believe you've saved my life. Howdid Hitchcock--"

"Oho! His hair was upon end. He rode to me in the middle of the nightand woke me up in the arms of Morpheus. I was most truly concerned, Finlinson, so I came too. My head-priest he is very angry just now. Wewill go quick, Mister Hitchcock. I am due to attend at twelve forty-fivein the state temple, where we sanctify some new idol. If not so Iwould have asked you to spend the day with me. They are dam-bore, thesereligious ceremonies, Finlinson, eh?"

Peroo, well known to the crew, had possessed himself of the inlaidwheel, and was taking the launch craftily up-stream. But while hesteered he was, in his mind, handling two feet of partially untwistedwire-rope; and the back upon which he beat was the back of his guru. 

A WALKING DELEGATE

According to the custom of Vermont, Sunday afternoon is salting-time onthe farm, and, unless something very important happens, we attend to thesalting ourselves. Dave and Pete, the red oxen, are treated first; theystay in the home meadow ready for work on Monday. Then come the cows, with Pan, the calf, who should have been turned into veal long ago, butsurvived on account of his manners; and lastly the horses, scatteredthrough the seventy acres of the Back Pasture. 

You must go down by the brook that feeds the clicking, bubblingwater-ram; up through the sugar-bush, where the young maple undergrowthcloses round you like a shallow sea; next follow the faint line of anold county-road running past two green hollows fringed with wild rosethat mark the cellars of two ruined houses; then by Lost Orchard, wherenobody ever comes except in cider-time; then across another brook, andso into the Back Pasture. Half of it is pine and hemlock and Spruce, with sumach and little juniper bushes, and the other half is grey rockand boulder and moss, with green streaks of brake and swamp; but thehorses like it well enough--our own, and the others that are turneddown there to feed at fifty cents a week. Most people walk to the BackPasture, and find it very rough work; but one can get there in a buggy, if the horse knows what is expected of him. The safest conveyance is ourcoupe. This began life as a buckboard, and we bought it for five dollarsfrom a sorrowful man who had no other sort of possessions; and the seatcame off one night when we were turning a corner in a hurry. Afterthat alteration it made a beautiful salting-machine, if you held tight, because there was nothing to catch your feet when you fell out, and theslats rattled tunes. 

One Sunday afternoon we went out with the salt as usual. It was abroiling hot day, and we could not find the horses anywhere till we letTedda Gabler, the bobtailed mare who throws up the dirt with her bighooves exactly as a tedder throws hay, have her head. Clever as she is, she tipped the coupe over in a hidden brook before she came out on aledge of rock where all the horses had gathered, and were switchingflies. The Deacon was the first to call to her. He is a very darkiron-grey four-year-old, son of Grandee. He has been handled since hewas two, was driven in a light cart before he was three, and now ranksas an absolutely steady lady's horse--proof against steam-rollers, grade-crossings, and street processions. 

"Salt!" said the Deacon, joyfully. "You're dreffle late, Tedda. "

"Any--any place to cramp the coupe?" Tedda panted. "It weighs turr'blethis weather. I'd 'a' come sooner, but they didn't know what theywanted--ner haow. Fell out twice, both of 'em. I don't understand sechfoolishness. "

"You look consider'ble het up. 'Guess you'd better cramp her under thempines, an' cool off a piece. "

Tedda scrambled on the ledge, and cramped the coupe in the shade of atiny little wood of pines, while my companion and I lay down among thebrown, silky needles, and gasped. All the home horses were gatheredround us, enjoying their Sunday leisure. 

There were Rod and Rick, the seniors on the farm. They were the regularroad-pair, bay with black points, full brothers, aged, sons ofa Hambletonian sire and a Morgan dam. There were Nip and Tuck, seal-browns, rising six, brother and sister, Black Hawks by birth, perfectly matched, just finishing their education, and as handsome apair as man could wish to find in a forty-mile drive. There was Muldoon, our ex-car-horse, bought at a venture, and any colour you choose thatis not white; and Tweezy, who comes from Kentucky, with an affliction ofhis left hip, which makes him a little uncertain how his hind legs aremoving. He and Muldoon had been hauling gravel all the week for our newroad. The Deacon you know already. Last of all, and eating something, was our faithful Marcus Aurelius Antoninus, the black buggy-horse, whohad seen us through every state of weather and road, the horse who wasalways standing in harness before some door or other--a philosopher withthe appetite of a shark and the manners of an archbishop. Tedda Gablerwas a new "trade, " with a reputation for vice which was really theresult of bad driving. She had one working gait, which she couldhold till further notice; a Roman nose; a large, prominent eye; ashaving-brush of a tail; and an irritable temper. She took her saltthrough her bridle; but the others trotted up nuzzling and wickering fortheirs, till we emptied it on the clean rocks. They were all standingat ease, on three legs for the most part, talking the ordinary gossipof the Back Pasture--about the scarcity of water, and gaps in the fence, and how the early windfalls tasted that season--when little Rick blewthe last few grains of his allowance into a crevice, and said:

"Hurry, boys! 'Might ha' knowed that livery plug would be around. "

We heard a clatter of hooves, and there climbed up from the ravine belowa fifty-center transient--a wall-eyed, yellow frame-house of a horse, sent up to board from a livery-stable in town, where they called him"The Lamb, " and never let him out except at night and to strangers. Mycompanion, who knew and had broken most of the horses, looked at theragged hammer-head as it rose, and said quietly:

"Ni-ice beast. Man-eater, if he gets the chance--see his eye. Kicker, too--see his hocks. Western horse. "

The animal lumbered up, snuffling and grunting. His feet showed thathe had not worked for weeks and weeks, and our creatures drew togethersignificantly. 

"As usual, " he said, with an underhung sneer--"bowin' your heads beforethe Oppressor that comes to spend his leisure gloatin' over you. "

"Mine's done, " said the Deacon; he licked up the remnant of his salt, dropped his nose in his master's hand, and sang a little grace all tohimself. The Deacon has the most enchanting manners of any one I know. 

"An' fawnin' on them for what is your inalienable right. It'shumiliatin', " said the yellow horse, sniffing to see if he could find afew spare grains. 

"Go daown hill, then, Boney, " the Deacon replied. "Guess you'll findsomethin' to eat still, if yer hain't hogged it all. You've ettmore'n any three of us to-day--an' day 'fore that--an' the last twomonths--sence you've been here. "

"I am not addressin' myself to the young an' immature. I am speakin' tothose whose opinion an' experience commands respect. "

I saw Rod raise his head as though he were about to make a remark; thenhe dropped it again, and stood three-cornered, like a plough-horse. Rodcan cover his mile in a shade under three minutes on an ordinary roadto an ordinary buggy. He is tremendously powerful behind, but, like mostHambletonians, he grows a trifle sullen as he gets older. No one canlove Rod very much; but no one can help respecting him. 

"I wish to wake those, " the yellow horse went on, "to an abidin' senseo' their wrongs an' their injuries an' their outrages. "

"Haow's that?" said Marcus Aurelius Antoninus, dreamily. He thoughtBoney was talking of some kind of feed. 

"An' when I say outrages and injuries"--Boney waved his tail furiously"I mean 'em, too. Great Oats! That's just what I do mean, plain an'straight. "

"The gentleman talks quite earnest, " said Tuck, the mare, to Nip, herbrother. "There's no doubt thinkin' broadens the horizons o' the mind. His language is quite lofty. "

"Hesh, sis, " Nip answered. 

"He hain't widened nothin' 'cep' the circle he's ett in pasture. Theyfeed words fer beddin' where he comes from. "

"It's elegant talkin', though, " Tuck returned, with an unconvinced tossof her pretty, lean little head. 

The yellow horse heard her, and struck an attitude which he meant tobe extremely impressive. It made him look as though he had been badlystuffed. 

"Now I ask you, I ask you without prejudice an' without favour, --whathas Man the Oppressor ever done for you?--Are you not inalienablyentitled to the free air o' heaven, blowin' acrost this boundlessprairie?"

"Hev ye ever wintered here?" said the Deacon, merrily, while the otherssnickered. "It's kinder cool. "

"Not yet, " said Boney. "I come from the boundless confines o' Kansas, where the noblest of our kind have their abidin' place among thesunflowers on the threshold o' the settin' sun in his glory. "

"An' they sent you ahead as a sample?" said Rick, with an amused quiverof his long, beautifully groomed tail, as thick and as fine and as wavyas a quadroon's back hair. 

"Kansas, sir, needs no advertisement. Her native sons rely on themselvesan' their native sires. Yes, sir. "

Then Tweezy lifted up his wise and polite old head. His affliction makeshim bashful as a rule, but he is ever the most courteous of horses. 

"Excuse me, suh, " he said slowly, "but, unless I have been misinfohmed, most of your prominent siahs, suh, are impo'ted from Kentucky; an' I'mfrom Paduky. "

There was the least little touch of pride in the last words. 

"Any horse dat knows beans, " said Muldoon, suddenly (he had beenstanding with his hairy chin on Tweezy's broad quarters), "gits outerKansas 'fore dey crip his shoes. I blew in dere from Ioway in de dayso' me youth an' innocence, an' I wuz grateful when dey boxed me fer N'York. You can't tell me anything about Kansas I don't wanter fergit. De Belt Line stables ain't no Hoffman House, but dey're Vanderbilts'longside o' Kansas. "

"What the horses o' Kansas think to-day, the horses of America willthink to-morrow; an' I tell you that when the horses of America rise intheir might, the day o' the Oppressor is ended. "

There was a pause, till Rick said, with a little grunt:

"Ef you put it that way, every one of us has riz in his might, 'cep'Marcus, mebbe. Marky, 'j ever rise in yer might?"

"Nope, " said Marcus Aurelius Antoninus, thoughtfully quidding over amouthful of grass. "I seen a heap o' fools try, though. "

"You admit that you riz?" said the Kansas horse, excitedly. "Thenwhy--why in Kansas did you ever go under again?"

"Horse can't walk on his hind legs all the time, " said the Deacon. 

"Not when he's jerked over on his back 'fore he knows what fetched him. We've all done it, Boney, " said Rick. "Nip an' Tuck they tried it, spiteo' what the Deacon told 'em; an' the Deacon he tried it, spite o' whatme an' Rod told him; an' me an' Rod tried it, spite o' what Grandee toldus; an' I guess Grandee he tried it, spite o' what his dam told him. It's the same old circus from generation to generation. 'Colt can't seewhy he's called on to back. Same old rearm' on end--straight up. Sameold feelin' that you've bested 'em this time. Same old little yank atyour mouth when you're up good an' tall. Same old Pegasus-act, wonderin'where you'll 'light. Same old wop when you hit the dirt with your headwhere your tail should be, and your in'ards shook up like a bran-mash. Same old voice in your ear: 'Waal, ye little fool, an' what did youreckon to make by that?' We're through with risin in our might on thisfarm. We go to pole er single, accordin' ez we're hitched. "

"An' Man the Oppressor sets an' gloats over you, same as he's settin'now. Hain't that been your experience, madam?"

This last remark was addressed to Tedda; and any one could see with halfan eye that poor, old anxious, fidgety Tedda, stamping at the flies, must have left a wild and tumultuous youth behind her. 

"'Pends on the man, " she answered, shifting from one foot to the other, and addressing herself to the home horses. "They abused me dreffle whenI was young. I guess I was sperrity an' nervous some, but they didn'tallow for that. 'Twas in Monroe County, Noo York, an' sence then till Icome here, I've run away with more men than 'u'd fill a boardin'-house. Why, the man that sold me here he says to the boss, s' he: 'Mind, now, I've warned you. 'Twon't be none of my fault if she sheds you daown theroad. Don't you drive her in a top-buggy, ner 'thout winkers, ' s' he, 'ner 'thought this bit ef you look to come home behind her. ' 'N' thefust thing the boss did was to git the top-buggy. 

"Can't say as I like top-buggies, " said Rick; "they don't balance good. "

"Suit me to a ha'ar, " said Marcus Aurelius Antoninus. "Top-buggy meansthe baby's in behind, an' I kin stop while she gathers the prettyflowers--yes, an' pick a maouthful, too. The women-folk all say I hev tobe humoured, an' I don't kerry things to the sweatin'-point. "

"'Course I've no prejudice against a top-buggy s' long's I can see it, "Tedda went on quickly. "It's ha'f-seein' the pesky thing bobbin' an'balancn' behind the winkers gits on my nerves. Then the boss looked atthe bit they'd sold with me, an' s' he: 'Jiminy Christmas! This 'u'dmake a clothes-horse Stan' 'n end!' Then he gave me a plain bar bit, an'fitted it's if there was some feelin' to my maouth. "

"Hain't ye got any, Miss Tedda?" said Tuck, who has a mouth like velvet, and knows it. 

"Might 'a' had, Miss Tuck, but I've forgot. Then he give me an openbridle, --my style's an open bridle--an'--I dunno as I ought to tell thisby rights--he--give--me--a kiss. "

"My!" said Tuck, "I can't tell fer the shoes o' me what makes some menso fresh. "

"Pshaw, sis, " said Nip, "what's the sense in actin' so? You git a kissreg'lar's hitchin'-up time. "

"Well, you needn't tell, smarty, " said Tuck, with a squeal and a kick. 

"I'd heard o' kisses, o' course, " Tedda went on, "but they hadn't comemy way specially. I don't mind tellin' I was that took aback at thatman's doin's he might ha' lit fire-crackers on my saddle. Then we wentout jest's if a kiss was nothin', an' I wasn't three strides into mygait 'fore I felt the boss knoo his business, an' was trustin' me. So Istudied to please him, an' he never took the whip from the dash--a whipdrives me plumb distracted--an' the upshot was that--waal, I've come upthe Back Pasture to-day, an' the coupe's tipped clear over twice, an'I've waited till 'twuz fixed each time. You kin judge for yourselves. Idon't set up to be no better than my neighbours, --specially with mytail snipped off the way 'tis, --but I want you all to know Tedda's quitfightin' in harness or out of it, 'cep' when there's a born fool inthe pasture, stuffin' his stummick with board that ain't rightly hisn, 'cause he hain't earned it. "

"Meanin' me, madam?" said the yellow horse. 

"Ef the shoe fits, clinch it, " said Tedda, snorting. "I named no names, though, to be sure, some folks are mean enough an' greedy enough to do'thout 'em. "

"There's a deal to be forgiven to ignorance, " said the yellow horse, with an ugly look in his blue eye. 

"Seemin'ly, yes; or some folks 'u'd ha' been kicked raound the pasture'bout onct a minute sence they came--board er no board. "

"But what you do not understand, if you will excuse me, madam, is thatthe whole principle o' servitood, which includes keep an' feed, startsfrom a radically false basis; an' I am proud to say that me an' themajority o' the horses o' Kansas think the entire concern should berelegated to the limbo of exploded superstitions. I say we're tooprogressive for that. I say we're too enlightened for that. 'Twas goodenough's long's we didn't think, but naow--but naow--a new loominary hasarisen on the horizon!"

"Meanin' you?" said the Deacon. 

"The horses o' Kansas are behind me with their multitoodinous thunderin'hooves, an' we say, simply but grandly, that we take our stand with allfour feet on the inalienable rights of the horse, pure and simple, --thehigh-toned child o' nature, fed by the same wavin' grass, cooled by thesame ripplin' brook--yes, an' warmed by the same gen'rous sun as fallsimpartially on the outside an' the inside of the pampered machine o'the trottin'-track, or the bloated coupe-horses o' these yere Easterncities. Are we not the same flesh an' blood?"

"Not by a bushel an' a half, " said the Deacon, under his breath. "Grandee never was in Kansas. "

"My! Ain't that elegant, though, abaout the wavin' grass an' theripplin' brooks?" Tuck whispered in Nip's ear. "The gentleman's realconvincin' I think. "

"I say we are the same flesh an' blood! Are we to be separated, horsefrom horse, by the artificial barriers of a trottin'-record, or are weto look down upon each other on the strength o' the gifts o' nature--anextry inch below the knee, or slightly more powerful quarters? What'sthe use o' them advantages to you? Man the Oppressor comes along, an'sees you're likely an' good-lookin', an' grinds you to the face o' theearth. What for? For his own pleasure: for his own convenience! Youngan' old, black an' bay, white an' grey, there's no distinctions madebetween us. We're ground up together under the remorseless teeth o' theengines of oppression!"

"Guess his breechin' must ha' broke goin' daown-hill, " said the Deacon. "Slippery road, maybe, an' the buggy come onter him, an' he didn't know'nough to hold back. That don't feel like teeth, though. Maybe he busteda shaft, an' it pricked him. "

"An' I come to you from Kansas, wavin' the tail o' friendship to allan' sundry, an' in the name of the uncounted millions o' pure-minded, high-toned horses now strugglin' towards the light o' freedom, I say toyou, Rub noses with us in our sacred an' holy cause. The power is yourn. Without you, I say, Man the Oppressor cannot move himself from place toplace. Without you he cannot reap, he cannot sow, he cannot plough. "

"Mighty odd place, Kansas!" said Marcus Aurelius Antoninus. "Seemin'lythey reap in the spring an' plough in the fall. 'Guess it's right ferthem, but 'twould make me kinder giddy. "

"The produc's of your untirin' industry would rot on the ground if youdid not weakly consent to help him. Let 'em rot, I say! Let him call youto the stables in vain an' nevermore! Let him shake his ensnarin' oatsunder your nose in vain! Let the Brahmas roost in the buggy, an' therats run riot round the reaper! Let him walk on his two hind feet tillthey blame well drop off! Win no more soul-destroyn' races for hispleasure! Then, an' not till then, will Man the Oppressor know wherehe's at. Quit workin', fellow-sufferers an' slaves! Kick! Rear! Plunge!Lie down on the shafts, an' woller! Smash an' destroy! The conflict willbe but short, an' the victory is certain. After that we can press ourinalienable rights to eight quarts o' oats a day, two good blankets, an'a fly-net an' the best o' stablin'. "

The yellow horse shut his yellow teeth with a triumphant snap; and Tucksaid, with a sigh: "Seems's if somethin' ought to be done. Don't seemright, somehow, --oppressin' us an all, --to my way o' thinkin'. "

Said Muldoon, in a far-away and sleepy voice:

"Who in Vermont's goin' to haul de inalienable oats? Dey weigh like SamHill, an' sixty bushel at dat allowance ain't goin' to last t'ree weekshere. An' dere's de winter hay for five mont's!"

"We can settle those minor details when the great cause is won, " saidthe yellow horse. "Let us return simply but grandly to our inalienablerights--the right o' freedom on these yere verdant hills, an' noinvijjus distinctions o' track an' pedigree:"

"What in stables 'jer call an invijjus distinction?" said the Deacon, stiffly. 

"Fer one thing, bein' a bloated, pampered trotter jest because youhappen to be raised that way, an' couldn't no more help trottin' thaneatin'. "

"Do ye know anythin' about trotters?" said the Deacon. 

"I've seen 'em trot. That was enough for me. I don't want to know anymore. Trottin''s immoral. "

"Waal, I'll tell you this much. They don't bloat, an' they don'tpamp--much. I don't hold out to be no trotter myself, though I am freeto say I had hopes that way--onct. But I do say, fer I've seen 'emtrained, that a trotter don't trot with his feet: he trots with hishead; an' he does more work--ef you know what that is--in a week thanyou er your sire ever done in all your lives. He's everlastingly at it, a trotter is; an' when he isn't, he's studyin' haow. You seen 'emtrot? Much you hev! You was hitched to a rail, back o' the stand, ina buckboard with a soap-box nailed on the slats, an' a frowzy buff'loatop, while your man peddled rum fer lemonade to little boys asthought they was actin' manly, till you was both run off the track an'jailed--you intoed, shufflin', sway-backed, wind-suckin' skate, you!"

"Don't get het up, Deacon, " said Tweezy, quietly. "Now, suh, would youconsider a fox-trot, an' single-foot, an' rack, an' pace, an' amble, distinctions not worth distinguishin'? I assuah you, gentlemen, therewas a time befo' I was afflicted in my hip, if you'll pardon me, MissTuck, when I was quite celebrated in Paduky for all those gaits; anin my opinion the Deacon's co'rect when he says that a ho'se of anyposition in society gets his gaits by his haid, an' not by--his, ah, limbs, Miss Tuck. I reckon I'm very little good now, but I'm rememberin'the things I used to do befo' I took to transpo'tin' real estate withthe help an' assistance of this gentleman here. " He looked at Muldoon. 

"Invijjus arterficial hind legs!" said the ex-carhorse, with a grunt ofcontempt. "On de Belt Line we don't reckon no horse wuth his keep 'lesshe kin switch de car off de track, run her round on de cobbles, an' dumpher in ag'in ahead o' de truck what's blockin' him. Dere is a way o'swingin' yer quarters when de driver says, 'Yank her out, boys!' dattakes a year to learn. Onct yer git onter it, youse kin yank a cable-carouter a manhole. I don't advertise myself for no circus-horse, but Iknew dat trick better than most, an' dey was good to me in de stables, fer I saved time on de Belt--an' time's what dey hunt in N' York. "

"But the simple child o' nature--" the yellow horse began. 

"Oh, go an' unscrew yer splints! You're talkin' through yer bandages, "said Muldoon, with a horse-laugh. "Dere ain't no loose-box for de simplechild o' nature on de Belt Line, wid de Paris comin' in an' de Teutonicgoin' out, an' de trucks an' de coupe's sayin' things, an' de heavyfreight movin' down fer de Boston boat 'bout t'ree o'clock of an Augustafternoon, in de middle of a hot wave when de fat Kanucks an' Westernhorses drops dead on de block. De simple child o' nature had betterchase himself inter de water. Every man at de end of his lines is mador loaded or silly, an' de cop's madder an' loadeder an' sillier thande rest. Dey all take it outer de horses. Dere's no wavin' brooks nerripplin' grass on de Belt Line. Run her out on de cobbles wid de sparksflyin', an' stop when de cop slugs you on de bone o' yer nose. Dat'sN'York; see?

"I was always told s'ciety in Noo York was dreffle refined an'high-toned, " said Tuck. "We're lookin' to go there one o' these days, Nip an' me. "

"Oh, you won't see no Belt business where you'll go, miss. De mandat wants you'll want bad, an' he'll summer you on Long Island er atNewport, wid a winky-pinky silver harness an' an English coachman. You'll make a star-hitch, you an' yer brother, miss. But I guess youwon't have no nice smooth bar bit. Dey checks 'em, an' dey bangs deirtails, an' dey bits 'em, de city folk, an' dey says it's English, yeknow, an' dey darsen't cut a horse loose 'ca'se o' de cops. N' York's noplace fer a horse, 'less he's on de Belt, an' can go round wid de boys. Wisht I was in de Fire Department!"

"But did you never stop to consider the degradin' servitood of it all?"said the yellow horse. 

"You don't stop on de Belt, cully. You're stopped. An' we was all in deservitood business, man an' horse, an' Jimmy dat sold de papers. Guessde passengers weren't out to grass neither, by de way dey acted. I donemy turn, an' I'm none o' Barnum's crowd; but any horse dat's worked onde Belt four years don't train wid no simple child o' nature--not by dewhole length o' N' York. "

"But can it be possible that with your experience, and at your time oflife, you do not believe that all horses are free and equal?" said theyellow horse. 

"Not till they're dead, " Muldoon answered quietly. "An' den it dependson de gross total o' buttons an' mucilage dey gits outer youse at BarrenIsland. "

"They tell me you're a prominent philosopher. " The yellow horse turnedto Marcus. "Can you deny a basic and pivotal statement such as this?"

"I don't deny anythin', " said Marcus Aurelius Antoninus, cautiously;"but ef you ast me, I should say 'twuz more different sorts o' clippedoats of a lie than anythin' I've had my teeth into sence I wuz foaled. "

"Are you a horse?" said the yellow horse. 

"Them that knows me best 'low I am. "

"Ain't I a horse?"

"Yep; one kind of. "

"Then ain't you an' me equal?"

"How fer kin you go in a day to a loaded buggy, drawin' five hundredpounds?" Marcus asked carelessly. 

"That has nothing to do with the case, " the yellow horse answeredexcitedly. 

"There's nothing I know hez more to do with the case, " Marcus replied. 

"Kin ye yank a full car outer de tracks ten times in de mornin'?" saidMuldoon. 

"Kin ye go to Keene--forty-two mile in an afternoon--with a mate, " saidRick; "an' turn out bright an' early next mornin'?"

"Was there evah any time in your careah, suh--I am not referrin' tothe present circumstances, but our mutual glorious past--when you couldcarry a pretty girl to market hahnsome, an' let her knit all the way onaccount o' the smoothness o' the motion?" said Tweezy. 

"Kin you keep your feet through the West River Bridge, with thenarrer-gage comin' in on one side, an' the Montreal flyer the other, an'the old bridge teeterin' between?" said the Deacon. "Kin you put yournose down on the cow-catcher of a locomotive when you're waitin' at thedepot an' let 'em play 'Curfew shall not ring to-night' with the bigbrass bell?"

"Kin you hold back when the brichin' breaks? Kin you stop fer orderswhen your nigh hind leg's over your trace an' ye feel good of a frostymornin'?" said Nip, who had only learned that trick last winter, andthought it was the crown of horsely knowledge. 

"What's the use o' talk in'?" said Tedda Gabler, scornfully. "What kinye do?"

"I rely on my simple rights--the inalienable rights o' my unfetteredhorsehood. An' I am proud to say I have never, since my first shoes, lowered myself to obeyin' the will o' man. "

"'Must ha' had a heap o' whips broke over yer yaller back, " said Tedda. "Hev ye found it paid any?"

"Sorrer has been my portion since the day I was foaled. Blows an' bootsan' whips an' insults--injury, outrage, an' oppression. I would notendoor the degradin' badges o' servitood that connect us with the buggyan' the farm-wagon. "

"It's amazin' difficult to draw a buggy 'thout traces er collar erbreast-strap er somefin', " said Marcus. "A Power-machine for sawin' woodis most the only thing there's no straps to. I've helped saw 's much asthree cord in an afternoon in a Power-machine. Slep', too, most o' thetime, I did; but 'tain't half as interestin' ez goin' daown-taown in theConcord. "

"Concord don't hender you goin' to sleep any, " said Nip. "Mythroat-lash! D'you remember when you lay down in the sharves last week, waitin' at the piazza?"

"Pshaw! That didn't hurt the sharves. They wuz good an' wide, an' Ilay down keerful. The folks kep' me hitched up nigh an hour 'fore theystarted; an' larfed--why, they all but lay down themselves with larfin'. Say, Boney, if you've got to be hitched to anything that goes on wheels, you've got to be hitched with somefin'. "

"Go an' jine a circus, " said Muldoon, "an' walk on your hind legs. Allde horses dat knows too much to work [he pronounced it 'woik, ' New Yorkfashion] jine de circus. "

"I am not sayin' anythin' again' work, " said the yellow horse; "work isthe finest thing in the world. "

"'Seems too fine fer some of us, " Tedda snorted. 

"I only ask that each horse should work for himself, an' enjoy theprofit of his labours. Let him work intelligently, an' not as amachine. "

"There ain't no horse that works like a machine, " Marcus began. 

"There's no way o' workin' that doesn't mean goin' to pole ersingle--they never put me in the Power-machine--er under saddle, " saidRick. 

"Oh, shucks! We're talkin' same ez we graze, " said Nip, "raound an'raound in circles. Rod, we hain't heard from you yet, an' you've moreknow-how than any span here. "

Rod, the off-horse of the pair, had been standing with one hip lifted, like a tired cow; and you could only tell by the quick flutter of thehaw across his eye, from time to time, that he was paying any attentionto the argument. He thrust his jaw out sidewise, as his habit is when hepulls, and changed his leg. His voice was hard and heavy, and his earswere close to his big, plain Hambletonian head. 

"How old are you?" he said to the yellow horse. 

"Nigh thirteen, I guess. "

"Mean age; ugly age; I'm gettin' that way myself. How long hev ye beenpawin' this firefanged stable-litter?"

"If you mean my principles, I've held 'em sence I was three. "

"Mean age; ugly age; teeth give heaps o' trouble then. 'Set a colt toactin' crazy fer a while. You've kep' it up, seemin'ly. D'ye talk muchto your neighbours fer a steady thing?"

"I uphold the principles o' the Cause wherever I am pastured. "

"'Done a heap o' good, I guess?"

"I am proud to say I have taught a few of my companions the principleso' freedom an' liberty. "

"Meanin' they ran away er kicked when they got the chanst?"

"I was talkin' in the abstrac', an' not in the concrete. My teachin'seducated them. "

"What a horse, specially a young horse, hears in the abstrac', he'sliable to do in the Concord. You was handled late, I presoom. "

"Four, risin' five. "

"That's where the trouble began. Driv' by a woman, like ez not--eh?"

"Not fer long, " said the yellow horse, with a snap of his teeth. 

"Spilled her?"

"I heerd she never drove again. "

"Any childern?"

"Buckboards full of 'em. "

"Men too?"

"I have shed conside'ble men in my time. "

"By kickin'?"

"Any way that come along. Fallin' back over the dash is as handy asmost. "

"They must be turr'ble afraid o' you daown taown?"

"They've sent me here to get rid o' me. I guess they spend their timetalkin' over my campaigns. "

"I wanter know!"

"Yes, sir. Now, all you gentlemen have asked me what I can do. I'll justshow you. See them two fellers lyin' down by the buggy?"

"Yep; one of 'em owns me. T'other broke me, " said Rod. 

"Get 'em out here in the open, an' I'll show you something. Lemme hideback o' you peoples, so's they won't see what I'm at. "

"Meanin' ter kill 'em?" Rod drawled. There was a shudder of horrorthrough the others; but the yellow horse never noticed. 

"I'll catch 'em by the back o' the neck, an' pile-drive 'em a piece. They can suit 'emselves about livin' when I'm through with 'em. "

"'Shouldn't wonder ef they did, " said Rod. The yellow horse had hiddenhimself very cleverly behind the others as they stood in a group, andwas swaying his head close to the ground with a curious scythe-likemotion, looking side-wise out of his wicked eyes. You can never mistakea man-eater getting ready to knock a man down. We had had one to pasturethe year before. 

"See that?" said my companion, turning over on the pine-needles. "Nicefor a woman walking 'cross lots, wouldn't it be?"

"Bring 'em out!" said the yellow horse, hunching his sharp back. "There's no chance among them tall trees. Bring out the--oh! Ouch!"

It was a right-and-left kick from Muldoon. I had no idea that the oldcar-horse could lift so quickly. Both blows caught the yellow horse fulland fair in the ribs, and knocked the breath out of him. 

"What's that for?" he said angrily, when he recovered himself; but Inoticed he did not draw any nearer to Muldoon than was necessary. 

Muldoon never answered, but discoursed to himself in the whining gruntthat he uses when he is going down-hill in front of a heavy load. Wecall it singing; but I think it's something much worse, really. Theyellow horse blustered and squealed a little, and at last said that, ifit was a horse-fly that had stung Muldoon, he would accept an apology. 

"You'll get it, " said Muldoon, "in de sweet by-and-bye--all de apologyyou've any use for. Excuse me interruptin' you, Mr. Rod, but I'm likeTweezy--I've a Southern drawback in me hind legs. "

"Naow, I want you all here to take notice, an' you'll learn something, "Rod went on. "This yaller-backed skate comes to our pastur'-"

"Not havin' paid his board, " put in Tedda. 

"Not havin' earned his board, an' talks smooth to us abaout ripplin'brooks an' wavin' grass, an' his high-toned, pure-souled horsehood, which don't hender him sheddin' women an' childern, an' fallin' over thedash onter men. You heard his talk, an' you thought it mighty fine, someo' you. "

Tuck looked guilty here, but she did not say anything. 

"Bit by bit he goes on ez you have heard. "

"I was talkin' in the abstrac', " said the yellow horse, in an alteredvoice. 

"Abstrac' be switched! Ez I've said, it's this yer blamed abstrac'business that makes the young uns cut up in the Concord; an' abstrac'or no abstrac', he crep' on an' on till he come to killin' plain an'straight--killin' them as never done him no harm, jest beca'se theyowned horses. "

"An' knowed how to manage 'em, " said Tedda. "That makes it worse. "

"Waal, he didn't kill 'em, anyway, " said Marcus. "He'd ha' been halfkilled ef he had tried. "

"'Makes no differ, " Rod answered. "He meant to; an' ef he hadn't--s'posewe want the Back Pasture turned into a biffin'-ground on our only day errest? 'S'pose we want our men walkin' round with bits er lead pipe an' atwitch, an' their hands full o' stones to throw at us, same's if we wuzhogs er hooky keows? More'n that, leavin' out Tedda here--an' I guessit's more her maouth than her manners stands in her light--there ain't ahorse on this farm that ain't a woman's horse, an' proud of it. An' thisyer bogspavined Kansas sunflower goes up an' daown the length o' thecountry, traded off an' traded on, boastin' as he's shed women--an'childern. I don't say as a woman in a buggy ain't a fool. I don't sayas she ain't the lastin'est kind er fool, ner I don't say a child ain'tworse--spattin' the lines an' standin' up an' hollerin'--but I do say, 'tain't none of our business to shed 'em daown the road. "

"We don't, " said the Deacon. "The baby tried to git some o' my tail fora sooveneer last fall when I was up to the haouse, an' I didn't kick. Boney's talk ain't goin' to hurt us any. We ain't colts. "

"Thet's what you think Bimeby you git into a tight corner, 'Lectionday er Valley Fair, like's not, daown-taown, when you're all het an'lathery, an' pestered with flies, an' thirsty, an' sick o' bein' workedin an aout 'tween buggies. Then somethin' whispers inside o' yourwinkers, bringin' up all that talk abaout servitood an' inalienabletruck an' sech like, an' jest then a Militia gun goes off; er yourwheels hit, an'--waal, you're only another horse ez can't be trusted. I've been there time an' again. Boys--fer I've seen you all bought erbroke--on my solemn repitation fer a three-minute clip, I ain't givin'you no bran-mash o' my own fixin'. I'm tellin' you my experiences, an'I've had ez heavy a load an' ez high a check's any horse here. I wuzborn with a splint on my near fore ez big's a walnut, an' the cussed, three-cornered Hambletonian temper that sours up an' curdles daown ezyou git older. I've favoured my splint; even little Rick he don't knowwhat it's cost me to keep my end up sometimes; an' I've fit my temperin stall an' harness, hitched up an' at pasture, till the sweat trickledoff my hooves, an' they thought I wuz off condition, an' drenched me. "

"When my affliction came, " said Tweezy, gently, "I was very near tolosin' my manners. Allow me to extend to you my sympathy, suh. "

Rick said nothing, but he looked at Rod curiously. Rick is asunny-tempered child who never bears malice, and I don't think he quiteunderstood. He gets his temper from his mother, as a horse should. 

"I've been there too, Rod, " said Tedda. "Open confession's good for thesoul, an' all Monroe County knows I've had my experriences. "

"But if you will excuse me, suh, that pusson"--Tweezy looked unspeakablethings at the yellow horse--"that pusson who has insulted ourintelligences comes from Kansas. An' what a ho'se of his position, an' Kansas at that, says cannot, by any stretch of the halter, concerngentlemen of our position. There's no shadow of equal'ty, suh, not evenfor one kick. He's beneath our contempt. "

"Let him talk, " said Marcus. "It's always interestin' to know whatanother horse thinks. It don't tech us. "

"An' he talks so, too, " said Tuck. "I've never heard anythin' so smartfor a long time. "

Again Rod stuck out his jaws sidewise, and went on slowly, as though hewere slugging on a plain bit at the end of a thirty-mile drive:

"I want all you here ter understand thet ther ain't no Kansas, ner noKentucky, ner yet no Vermont, in our business. There's jest two kindo' horse in the United States--them ez can an' will do their work afterbein' properly broke an' handled, an' them as won't. I'm sick an' tiredo' this everlastin' tail-switchin' an' wickerin' abaout one State eranother. A horse kin be proud o' his State, an' swap lies abaout it install or when he's hitched to a block, ef he keers to put in fly-timethat way; but he hain't no right to let that pride o' hisn interferewith his work, ner to make it an excuse fer claimin' he's different. That's colts' talk, an' don't you fergit it, Tweezy. An', Marcus, youremember that hem' a philosopher, an' anxious to save trouble, --fer youate, --don't excuse you from jumpin' with all your feet on a slack-jawed, crazy clay-bank like Boney here. It's leavin' 'em alone that gives 'emtheir chance to ruin colts an' kill folks. An', Tuck, waal, you're amare anyways--but when a horse comes along an' covers up all his talk o'killin' with ripplin' brooks, an wavin grass, an' eight quarts of oatsa day free, after killn' his man, don't you be run away with by his yap. You're too young an' too nervous. "

"I'll--I'll have nervous prostration sure ef there's a fight here, " saidTuck, who saw what was in Rod's eye; "I'm--I'm that sympathetic I'd runaway clear to next caounty. "

"Yep; I know that kind o' sympathy. Jest lasts long enough to start afuss, an' then lights aout to make new trouble. I hain't been ten yearsin harness fer nuthin'. Naow, we're goin' to keep school with Boney fera spell. "

"Say, look a-here, you ain't goin' to hurt me, are you? Remember, Ibelong to a man in town, " cried the yellow horse, uneasily. Muldoon keptbehind him so that he could not run away. 

"I know it. There must be some pore delooded fool in this State hez aright to the loose end o' your hitchin'-strap. I'm blame sorry fer him, but he shall hev his rights when we're through with you, " said Rod. 

"If it's all the same, gentlemen, I'd ruther change pasture. Guess I'lldo it now. "

"'Can't always have your 'druthers. 'Guess you won't, " said Rod. 

"But look a-here. All of you ain't so blame unfriendly to a stranger. S'pose we count noses. "

"What in Vermont fer?" said Rod, putting up his eyebrows. The idea ofsettling a question by counting noses is the very last thing that everenters the head of a well-broken horse. 

"To see how many's on my side. Here's Miss Tuck, anyway; an' ColonelTweezy yonder's neutral; an' Judge Marcus, an' I guess the Reverend [theyellow horse meant the Deacon] might see that I had my rights. He's thelikeliest-lookin' Trotter I've ever set eyes on. Pshaw. Boys. You ain'tgoin' to pound me, be you? Why, we've gone round in pasture, all coltstogether, this month o' Sundays, hain't we, as friendly as could be. There ain't a horse alive I don't care who he is--has a higher opiniono' you, Mr. Rod, than I have. Let's do it fair an' true an' above theexe. Let's count noses same's they do in Kansas. " Here he dropped hisvoice a little and turned to Marcus: "Say, Judge, there's some greenfood I know, back o' the brook, no one hain't touched yet. After thislittle fracas is fixed up, you an' me'll make up a party an' 'tend toit. "

Marcus did not answer for a long time, then he said: "There's a pup upto the haouse 'bout eight weeks old. He'll yap till he gits a lickin', an' when he sees it comin' he lies on his back, an' yowls. But he don'tgo through no cirkituous nose-countin' first. I've seen a noo lightsence Rod spoke. You'll better stand up to what's served. I'm goin' tophilosophise all over your carcass. "

"I'm goin' to do yer up in brown paper, " said Muldoon. "I can fit you onapologies. "

"Hold on. Ef we all biffed you now, these same men you've been so deadanxious to kill 'u'd call us off. 'Guess we'll wait till they go back tothe haouse, an' you'll have time to think cool an' quiet, " said Rod. 

"Have you no respec' whatever fer the dignity o' our common horsehood?"the yellow horse squealed. 

"Nary respec' onless the horse kin do something. America's paved withthe kind er horse you are--jist plain yaller-dog horse--waitin' ter bewhipped inter shape. We call 'em yearlings an' colts when they're young. When they're aged we pound 'em--in this pastur'. Horse, sonny, iswhat you start from. We know all about horse here, an' he ain't anyhigh-toned, pure souled child o' nature. Horse, plain horse, same ezyou, is chock-full o' tricks, an' meannesses, an' cussednesses, an'shirkin's, an' monkey-shines, which he's took over from his sire an'his dam, an' thickened up with his own special fancy in the way o' goin'crooked. Thet's horse, an' thet's about his dignity an' the size of hissoul 'fore he's been broke an' rawhided a piece. Now we ain't goin' togive ornery unswitched horse, that hain't done nawthin' wuth a quart ofoats sence he wuz foaled, pet names that would be good enough fer NancyHanks, or Alix, or Directum, who hev. Don't you try to back off acrostthem rocks. Wait where you are! Ef I let my Hambletonian temper git thebetter o' me I'd frazzle you out finer than rye-straw inside o' threeminutes, you woman-scarin', kid-killin', dash-breakin', unbroke, unshod, ungaited, pastur'-hoggin', saw-backed, shark-mouthed, hair-trunk-thrown-in-in-trade son of a bronco an' a sewin'-machine!"

"I think we'd better get home, " I said to my companion, when Rod hadfinished; and we climbed into the coupe, Tedda whinnying, as we bumpedover the ledges: "Well, I'm dreffle sorry I can't stay fer the sociable;but I hope an' trust my friends'll take a ticket fer me. "

"Bet your natchul!" said Muldoon, cheerfully, and the horses scatteredbefore us, trotting into the ravine. 

Next morning we sent back to the livery-stable what was left of theyellow horse. It seemed tired, but anxious to go. 

THE SHIP THAT FOUND HERSELF

It was her first voyage, and though she was but a cargo-steamer oftwenty-five hundred tons, she was the very best of her kind, theoutcome of forty years of experiments and improvements in framework andmachinery; and her designers and owner thought as much of her as thoughshe had been the Lucania. Any one can make a floating hotel that willpay expenses, if he puts enough money into the saloon, and charges forprivate baths, suites of rooms, and such like; but in these days ofcompetition and low freights every square inch of a cargo-boat must bebuilt for cheapness, great hold-capacity, and a certain steady speed. This boat was, perhaps, two hundred and forty feet long and thirty-twofeet wide, with arrangements that enabled her to carry cattle on hermain and sheep on her upper deck if she wanted to; but her great glorywas the amount of cargo that she could store away in her holds. Herowners--they were a very well known Scotch firm--came round with herfrom the north, where she had been launched and christened and fitted, to Liverpool, where she was to take cargo for New York; and the owner'sdaughter, Miss Frazier, went to and fro on the clean decks, admiring thenew paint and the brass work, and the patent winches, and particularlythe strong, straight bow, over which she had cracked a bottle ofchampagne when she named the steamer the Dimbula. It was a beautifulSeptember afternoon, and the boat in all her newness--she was paintedlead-colour with a red funnel--looked very fine indeed. Her house-flagwas flying, and her whistle from time to time acknowledged the salutesof friendly boats, who saw that she was new to the High and Narrow Seasand wished to make her welcome. 

"And now, " said Miss Frazier, delightedly, to the captain, "she's a realship, isn't she? It seems only the other day father gave the order forher, and now--and now--isn't she a beauty!" The girl was proud of thefirm, and talked as though she were the controlling partner. 

"Oh, she's no so bad, " the skipper replied cautiously. "But I'm sayin'that it takes more than christenin' to mak' a ship. In the nature o'things, Miss Frazier, if ye follow me, she's just irons and rivets andplates put into the form of a ship. She has to find herself yet. "

"I thought father said she was exceptionally well found. "

"So she is, " said the skipper, with a laugh. "But it's this way wi'ships, Miss Frazier. She's all here, but the parrts of her have notlearned to work together yet. They've had no chance. "

"The engines are working beautifully. I can hear them. "

"Yes, indeed. But there's more than engines to a ship. Every inch ofher, ye'll understand, has to be livened up and made to work wi' itsneighbour--sweetenin' her, we call it, technically. "

"And how will you do it?" the girl asked. 

"We can no more than drive and steer her and so forth; but if we haverough weather this trip--it's likely--she'll learn the rest by heart!For a ship, ye'll obsairve, Miss Frazier, is in no sense a reegid bodyclosed at both ends. She's a highly complex structure o' various an'conflictin' strains, wi' tissues that must give an' tak' accordin' toher personal modulus of elasteecity. " Mr. Buchanan, the chief engineer, was coming towards them. "I'm sayin' to Miss Frazier, here, that ourlittle Dimbula has to be sweetened yet, and nothin' but a gale will doit. How's all wi' your engines, Buck?"

"Well enough--true by plumb an' rule, o' course; but there's nospontaneeity yet. " He turned to the girl. "Take my word, Miss Frazier, and maybe ye'll comprehend later; even after a pretty girl's christeneda ship it does not follow that there's such a thing as a ship under themen that work her. "

"I was sayin' the very same, Mr. Buchanan, " the skipper interrupted. 

"That's more metaphysical than I can follow, " said Miss Frazier, laughing. 

"Why so? Ye're good Scotch, an'--I knew your mother's father, he wasfra' Dumfries--ye've a vested right in metapheesics, Miss Frazier, justas ye have in the Dimbula, " the engineer said. 

"Eh, well, we must go down to the deep watters, an' earn Miss Frazierher deevidends. Will you not come to my cabin for tea?" said theskipper. "We'll be in dock the night, and when you're goin' back toGlasgie ye can think of us loadin' her down an' drivin' her forth--allfor your sake. "

In the next few days they stowed some four thousand tons dead-weightinto the Dimbula, and took her out from Liverpool. As soon as she metthe lift of the open water, she naturally began to talk. If you lay yourear to the side of the cabin, the next time you are in a steamer, youwill hear hundreds of little voices in every direction, thrillingand buzzing, and whispering and popping, and gurgling and sobbing andsqueaking exactly like a telephone in a thunder-storm. Wooden shipsshriek and growl and grunt, but iron vessels throb and quiver throughall their hundreds of ribs and thousands of rivets. The Dimbula wasvery strongly built, and every piece of her had a letter or a number, orboth, to describe it; and every piece had been hammered, or forged, orrolled, or punched by man, and had lived in the roar and rattle of theshipyard for months. Therefore, every piece had its own separate voice, in exact proportion to the amount of trouble spent upon it. Cast-iron, as a rule, says very little; but mild steel plates and wrought-iron, and ribs and beams that have been much bent and welded and riveted, talkcontinuously. Their conversation, of course, is not half as wise as ourhuman talk, because they are all, though they do not know it, bound downone to the other in a black darkness, where they cannot tell what ishappening near them, nor what will overtake them next. 

As soon as she had cleared the Irish coast, a sullen, grey-headed oldwave of the Atlantic climbed leisurely over her straight bows, andsat down on the steam-capstan used for hauling up the anchor. Now thecapstan and the engine that drove it had been newly painted red andgreen; besides which, nobody likes being ducked. 

"Don't you do that again, " the capstan sputtered through the teeth ofhis cogs. "Hi! Where's the fellow gone?"

The wave had slouched overside with a plop and a chuckle; but "Plentymore where he came from, " said a brother-wave, and went through andover the capstan, who was bolted firmly to an iron plate on the irondeck-beams below. 

"Can't you keep still up there?" said the deckbeams. "What's the matterwith you? One minute you weigh twice as much as you ought to, and thenext you don't!"

"It isn't my fault, " said the capstan. "There's a green brute outsidethat comes and hits me on the head. "

"Tell that to the shipwrights. You've been in position for months andyou've never wriggled like this before. If you aren't careful you'llstrain us. "

"Talking of strain, " said a low, rasping, unpleasant voice, "are any ofyou fellows--you deck-beams, we mean--aware that those exceedingly uglyknees of yours happen to be riveted into our structure--ours?"

"Who might you be?" the deck-beams inquired. 

"Oh, nobody in particular, " was the answer. "We're only the port andstarboard upper-deck stringers; and if you persist in heaving and hikinglike this, we shall be reluctantly compelled to take steps. "

Now the stringers of the ship are long iron girders, so to speak, thatrun lengthways from stern to bow. They keep the iron frames (what arecalled ribs in a wooden ship) in place, and also help to hold the endsof the deck-beams, which go from side to side of the ship. Stringersalways consider themselves most important, because they are so long. 

"You will take steps--will you?" This was a long echoing rumble. Itcame from the frames--scores and scores of them, each one about eighteeninches distant from the next, and each riveted to the stringers in fourplaces. "We think you will have a certain amount of trouble in that";and thousands and thousands of the little rivets that held everythingtogether whispered: "You Will! You will! Stop quivering and be quiet. Hold on, brethren! Hold on! Hot Punches! What's that?"

Rivets have no teeth, so they cannot chatter with fright; but they didtheir best as a fluttering jar swept along the ship from stern to bow, and she shook like a rat in a terrier's mouth. 

An unusually severe pitch, for the sea was rising, had lifted the bigthrobbing screw nearly to the surface, and it was spinning round in akind of soda-water--half sea and half air--going much faster than wasproper, because there was no deep water for it to work in. As it sankagain, the engines--and they were triple expansion, three cylinders ina row--snorted through all their three pistons. "Was that a joke, youfellow outside? It's an uncommonly poor one. How are we to do our workif you fly off the handle that way?"

"I didn't fly off the handle, " said the screw, twirling huskily at theend of the screw-shaft. "If I had, you'd have been scrap-iron by thistime. The sea dropped away from under me, and I had nothing to catch onto. That's all. "

"That's all, d'you call it?" said the thrust-block, whose business itis to take the push of the screw; for if a screw had nothing to hold itback it would crawl right into the engine-room. (It is the holding backof the screwing action that gives the drive to a ship. ) "I know I do mywork deep down and out of sight, but I warn you I expect justice. All Iask for is bare justice. Why can't you push steadily and evenly, insteadof whizzing like a whirligig, and making me hot under all my collars?"The thrust-block had six collars, each faced with brass, and he did notwish to get them heated. 

All the bearings that supported the fifty feet of screw-shaft as it ranto the stern whispered: "Justice--give us justice. "

"I can only give you what I can get, " the screw answered. "Look out!It's coming again!"

He rose with a roar as the Dimbula plunged, and "whack--flack--whack--whack" went the engines, furiously, for they had little to check them. 

"I'm the noblest outcome of human ingenuity--Mr. Buchanan says so, "squealed the high-pressure cylinder. "This is simply ridiculous!" Thepiston went up savagely, and choked, for half the steam behind it wasmixed with dirty water. "Help! Oiler! Fitter! Stoker! Help I'm choking, "it gasped. "Never in the history of maritime invention has such acalamity over-taken one so young and strong. And if I go, who's to drivethe ship?"

"Hush! oh, hush!" whispered the Steam, who, of course, had been to seamany times before. He used to spend his leisure ashore in a cloud, ora gutter, or a flower-pot, or a thunder-storm, or anywhere else wherewater was needed. "That's only a little priming, a little carrying-over, as they call it. It'll happen all night, on and off. I don't say it'snice, but it's the best we can do under the circumstances. "

"What difference can circumstances make? I'm here to do my work--onclean, dry steam. Blow circumstances!" the cylinder roared. 

"The circumstances will attend to the blowing. I've worked on the NorthAtlantic run a good many times--it's going to be rough before morning. "

"It isn't distressingly calm now, " said the extra strong frames--theywere called web-frames--in the engine-room. "There's an upward thrustthat we don't understand, and there's a twist that is very bad for ourbrackets and diamond-plates, and there's a sort of west-northwesterlypull, that follows the twist, which seriously annoys us. We mention thisbecause we happened to cost a good deal of money, and we feel sure thatthe owner would not approve of our being treated in this frivolous way. "

"I'm afraid the matter is out of owner's hands for the present, " saidthe Steam, slipping into the condenser. "You're left to your own devicestill the weather betters. "

"I wouldn't mind the weather, " said a flat bass voice below; "it's thisconfounded cargo that's breaking my heart. I'm the garboard-strake, and I'm twice as thick as most of the others, and I ought to knowsomething. "

The garboard-strake is the lowest plate in the bottom of a ship, andthe Dimbula's garboard-strake was nearly three-quarters of an inch mildsteel. 

"The sea pushes me up in a way I should never have expected, " the strakegrunted, "and the cargo pushes me down, and, between the two, I don'tknow what I'm supposed to do. "

"When in doubt, hold on, " rumbled the Steam, making head in the boilers. 

"Yes; but there's only dark, and cold, and hurry, down here; and howdo I know whether the other plates are doing their duty? Thosebulwark-plates up above, I've heard, ain't more than five-sixteenths ofan inch thick--scandalous, I call it. "

"I agree with you, " said a huge web-frame, by the main cargo-hatch. Hewas deeper and thicker than all the others, and curved half-way acrossthe ship in the shape of half an arch, to support the deck wheredeck-beams would have been in the way of cargo coming up and down. "Iwork entirely unsupported, and I observe that I am the sole strength ofthis vessel, so far as my vision extends. The responsibility, I assureyou, is enormous. I believe the money-value of the cargo is over onehundred and fifty thousand pounds. Think of that!"

"And every pound of it is dependent on my personal exertions. " Herespoke a sea-valve that communicated directly with the water outside, andwas seated not very far from the garboard-strake. "I rejoice to thinkthat I am a Prince-Hyde Valve, with best Para rubber facings. Fivepatents cover me--I mention this without pride--five separate andseveral patents, each one finer than the other. At present I amscrewed fast. Should I open, you would immediately be swamped. This isincontrovertible!"

Patent things always use the longest words they can. It is a trick thatthey pick up from their inventors. 

"That's news, " said a big centrifugal bilge-pump. "I had an idea thatyou were employed to clean decks and things with. At least, I've usedyou for that more than once. I forget the precise number, in thousands, of gallons which I am guaranteed to throw per hour; but I assure you, my complaining friends, that there is not the least danger. I alone amcapable of clearing any water that may find its way here. By my BiggestDeliveries, we pitched then!"

The sea was getting up in workmanlike style. It was a dead westerlygale, blown from under a ragged opening of green sky, narrowed on allsides by fat, grey clouds; and the wind bit like pincers as it frettedthe spray into lacework on the flanks of the waves. 

"I tell you what it is, " the foremast telephoned down its wire-stays. "I'm up here, and I can take a dispassionate view of things. There's anorganised conspiracy against us. I'm sure of it, because every singleone of these waves is heading directly for our bows. The whole sea isconcerned in it--and so's the wind. It's awful!"

"What's awful?" said a wave, drowning the capstan for the hundredthtime. 

"This organised conspiracy on your part, " the capstan gurgled, takinghis cue from the mast. "Organised bubbles and spindrift! There has beena depression in the Gulf of Mexico. Excuse me!" He leaped overside; buthis friends took up the tale one after another. 

"Which has advanced--" That wave hove green water over the funnel. 

"As far as Cape Hatteras--" He drenched the bridge. 

"And is now going out to sea--to sea--to sea!" The third went out inthree surges, making a clean sweep of a boat, which turned bottom up andsank in the darkening troughs alongside, while the broken falls whippedthe davits. 

"That's all there is to it, " seethed the white water roaring throughthe scuppers. "There's no animus in our proceedings. We're onlymeteorological corollaries. "

"Is it going to get any worse?" said the bow-anchor chained down to thedeck, where he could only breathe once in five minutes. 

"Not knowing, can't say. Wind may blow a bit by midnight. Thanksawfully. Good-bye. "

The wave that spoke so politely had travelled some distance aft, andfound itself all mixed up on the deck amidships, which was a well-decksunk between high bulwarks. One of the bulwark-plates, which was hung onhinges to open outward, had swung out, and passed the bulk of the waterback to the sea again with a clean smack. 

"Evidently that's what I'm made for, " said the plate, closing again witha sputter of pride. "Oh, no, you don't, my friend!" The top of a wavewas trying to get in from the outside, but as the plate did not open inthat direction, the defeated water spurted back. 

"Not bad for five-sixteenths of an inch, " said the bulwark-plate. "Mywork, I see, is laid down for the night"; and it began opening andshutting, as it was designed to do, with the motion of the ship. 

"We are not what you might call idle, " groaned all the frames together, as the Dimbula climbed a big wave, lay on her side at the top, and shotinto the next hollow, twisting in the descent. A huge swell pushed upexactly under her middle, and her bow and stern hung free with nothingto support them. Then one joking wave caught her up at the bow, andanother at the stern, while the rest of the water slunk away from underher just to see how she would like it; so she was held up at her twoends only, and the weight of the cargo and the machinery fell on thegroaning iron keels and bilge-stringers. 

"Ease off! Ease off; there!" roared the garboard-strake. "I wantone-eighth of an inch fair play. D' you hear me, you rivets!"

"Ease off! Ease off!" cried the bilge-stringers. "Don't hold us so tightto the frames!"

"Ease off!" grunted the deck-beams, as the Dimbula rolled fearfully. "You've cramped our knees into the stringers, and we can't move. Easeoff; you flat-headed little nuisances. "

Then two converging seas hit the bows, one on each side, and fell awayin torrents of streaming thunder. 

"Ease off!" shouted the forward collision-bulkhead. "I want to crumpleup, but I'm stiffened in every direction. Ease off; you dirty littleforge-filings. Let me breathe!"

All the hundreds of plates that are riveted to the frames, and make theoutside skin of every steamer, echoed the call, for each plate wantedto shift and creep a little, and each plate, according to its position, complained against the rivets. 

"We can't help it! We can't help it!" they murmured in reply. "We're puthere to hold you, and we're going to do it; you never pull us twice inthe same direction. If you'd say what you were going to do next, we'dtry to meet your views. 

"As far as I could feel, " said the upper-deck planking, and that wasfour inches thick, "every single iron near me was pushing or pulling inopposite directions. Now, what's the sense of that? My friends, let usall pull together. "

"Pull any way you please, " roared the funnel, "so long as you don'ttry your experiments on me. I need fourteen wire-ropes, all pulling indifferent directions, to hold me steady. Isn't that so?"

"We believe you, my boy!" whistled the funnel-stays through theirclinched teeth, as they twanged in the wind from the top of the funnelto the deck. 

"Nonsense! We must all pull together, " the decks repeated. "Pulllengthways. "

"Very good, " said the stringers; "then stop pushing sideways when youget wet. Be content to run gracefully fore and aft, and curve in at theends as we do. "

"No--no curves at the end. A very slight workmanlike curve from side toside, with a good grip at each knee, and little pieces welded on, " saidthe deck-beams. 

"Fiddle!" cried the iron pillars of the deep, dark hold. "Who ever heardof curves? Stand up straight; be a perfectly round column, and carrytons of good solid weight--like that! There!" A big sea smashed on thedeck above, and the pillars stiffened themselves to the load. 

"Straight up and down is not bad, " said the frames, who ran that way inthe sides of the ship, "but you must also expand yourselves sideways. Expansion is the law of life, children. Open out! open out!"

"Come back!" said the deck-beams, savagely, as the upward heave ofthe sea made the frames try to open. "Come back to your bearings, youslack-jawed irons!"

"Rigidity! Rigidity! Rigidity!" thumped the engines. "Absolute, unvarying rigidity--rigidity!"

"You see!" whined the rivets, in chorus. "No two of you will ever pullalike, and--and you blame it all on us. We only know how to go througha plate and bite down on both sides so that it can't, and mustn't, andsha'n't move. "

"I've got one fraction of an inch play, at any rate, " said thegarboard-strake, triumphantly. So he had, and all the bottom of the shipfelt the easier for it. 

"Then we're no good, " sobbed the bottom rivets. "We were ordered--wewere ordered--never to give; and we've given, and the sea will comein, and we'll all go to the bottom together! First we're blamed foreverything unpleasant, and now we haven't the consolation of having doneour work. "

"Don't say I told you, " whispered the Steam, consolingly; "but, betweenyou and me and the last cloud I came from, it was bound to happen sooneror later. You had to give a fraction, and you've given without knowingit. Now, hold on, as before. "

"What's the use?" a few hundred rivets chattered. "We've given--we'vegiven; and the sooner we confess that we can't keep the ship together, and go off our little heads, the easier it will be. No rivet forged canstand this strain. "

"No one rivet was ever meant to. Share it among you, " the Steamanswered. 

"The others can have my share. I'm going to pull out, " said a rivet inone of the forward plates. 

"If you go, others will follow, " hissed the Steam. "There's nothing socontagious in a boat as rivets going. Why, I knew a little chap likeyou--he was an eighth of an inch fatter, though--on a steamer--to besure, she was only twelve hundred tons, now I come to think of it inexactly the same place as you are. He pulled out in a bit of a bobbleof a sea, not half as bad as this, and he started all his friends on thesame butt-strap, and the plates opened like a furnace door, and I had toclimb into the nearest fog-bank, while the boat went down. "

"Now that's peculiarly disgraceful, " said the rivet. "Fatter than me, was he, and in a steamer not half our tonnage? Reedy little peg! I blushfor the family, sir. " He settled himself more firmly than ever in hisplace, and the Steam chuckled. 

"You see, " he went on, quite gravely, "a rivet, and especially a rivetin your position, is really the one indispensable part of the ship. "

The Steam did not say that he had whispered the very same thing to everysingle piece of iron aboard. There is no sense in telling too much. 

And all that while the little Dimbula pitched and chopped, and swungand slewed, and lay down as though she were going to die, and got up asthough she had been stung, and threw her nose round and round in circleshalf a dozen times as she dipped, for the gale was at its worst. It wasinky black, in spite of the tearing white froth on the waves, and, totop everything, the rain began to fall in sheets, so that you could notsee your hand before your face. This did not make much difference to theironwork below, but it troubled the foremast a good deal. 

"Now it's all finished, " he said dismally. "The conspiracy is too strongfor us. There is nothing left but to--"

"Hurraar! Brrrraaah! Brrrrrrp!" roared the Steam through the fog-horn, till the decks quivered. "Don't be frightened, below. It's only me, justthrowing out a few words, in case any one happens to be rolling roundto-night. "

"You don't mean to say there's any one except us on the sea in suchweather?" said the funnel, in a husky snuffle. 

"Scores of 'em, " said the Steam, clearing its throat. "Rrrrrraaa!Brraaaaa! Prrrrp! It's a trifle windy up here; and, Great Boilers! howit rains!"

"We're drowning, " said the scuppers. They had been doing nothing elseall night, but this steady thrash of rain above them seemed to be theend of the world. 

"That's all right. We'll be easier in an hour or two. First the windand then the rain. Soon you may make sail again! Grrraaaaaah! Drrrraaaa!Drrrp! I have a notion that the sea is going down already. If it doesyou'll learn something about rolling. We've only pitched till now. Bythe way, aren't you chaps in the hold a little easier than you were?"

There was just as much groaning and straining as ever, but it was notso loud or squeaky in tone; and when the ship quivered she did not jarstiffly, like a poker hit on the floor, but gave with a supple littlewaggle, like a perfectly balanced golf-club. 

"We have made a most amazing discovery, " said the stringers, one afteranother. "A discovery that entirely changes the situation. We havefound, for the first time in the history of ship-building, that theinward pull of the deck-beams and the outward thrust of the frames locksus, as it were, more closely in our places, and enables us to endurea strain which is entirely without parallel in the records of marinearchitecture. "

The Steam turned a laugh quickly into a roar up the fog-horn. "Whatmassive intellects you great stringers have, " he said softly, when hehad finished. 

"We also, " began the deck-beams, "are discoverers and geniuses. We areof opinion that the support of the hold-pillars materially helps us. We find that we lock up on them when we are subjected to a heavy andsingular weight of sea above. "

Here the Dimbula shot down a hollow, lying almost on her side; rightingat the bottom with a wrench and a spasm. 

"In these cases--are you aware of this, Steam?--the plating at the bows, and particularly at the stern--we would also mention the floors beneathus--help us to resist any tendency to spring. " The frames spoke, inthe solemn awed voice which people use when they have just come acrosssomething entirely new for the very first time. 

"I'm only a poor puffy little flutterer, " said the Steam, "but I haveto stand a good deal of pressure in my business. It's all tremendouslyinteresting. Tell us some more. You fellows are so strong. "

"Watch us and you'll see, " said the bow-plates, proudly. "Ready, behindthere! Here's the father and mother of waves coming! Sit tight, rivetsall!" A great sluicing comber thundered by, but through the scuffle andconfusion the Steam could hear the low, quick cries of the ironwork asthe various strains took them--cries like these: "Easy, now--easy! Nowpush for all your strength! Hold out! Give a fraction! Hold up! Pull in!Shove crossways! Mind the strain at the ends! Grip, now! Bite tight! Letthe water get away from under--and there she goes!"

The wave raced off into the darkness, shouting, "Not bad, that, if it'syour first run!" and the drenched and ducked ship throbbed to the beatof the engines inside her. All three cylinders were white with the saltspray that had come down through the engine-room hatch; there was whitefur on the canvas-bound steam-pipes, and even the bright-work deep belowwas speckled and soiled; but the cylinders had learned to make the mostof steam that was half water, and were pounding along cheerfully. 

"How's the noblest outcome of human ingenuity hitting it?" said theSteam, as he whirled through the engine-room. 

"Nothing for nothing in this world of woe, " the cylinders answered, asthough they had been working for centuries, "and precious little forseventy-five pounds head. We've made two knots this last hour and aquarter! Rather humiliating for eight hundred horse-power, isn't it?"

"Well, it's better than drifting astern, at any rate. You seem ratherless--how shall I put it--stiff in the back than you were. "

"If you'd been hammered as we've been this night, you wouldn't bestiff--iff--iff; either. Theoreti--retti--retti--cally, of course, rigidity is the thing. Purrr--purr--practically, there has to be alittle give and take. We found that out by working on our sides for fiveminutes at a stretch--chch--chh. How's the weather?"

"Sea's going down fast, " said the Steam. 

"Good business, " said the high-pressure cylinder. "Whack her up, boys. They've given us five pounds more steam"; and he began humming the firstbars of "Said the young Obadiah to the old Obadiah, " which, as you mayhave noticed, is a pet tune among engines not built for high speed. Racing-liners with twin-screws sing "The Turkish Patrol" and theoverture to the "Bronze Horse, " and "Madame Angot, " till something goeswrong, and then they render Gounod's "Funeral March of a Marionette, "with variations. 

"You'll learn a song of your own some fine day, " said the Steam, as heflew up the fog-horn for one last bellow. 

Next day the sky cleared and the sea dropped a little, and the Dimbulabegan to roll from side to side till every inch of iron in her wassick and giddy. But luckily they did not all feel ill at the same time:otherwise she would have opened out like a wet paper box. 

The Steam whistled warnings as he went about his business: it is in thisshort, quick roll and tumble that follows a heavy sea that most of theaccidents happen, for then everything thinks that the worst is over andgoes off guard. So he orated and chattered till the beams and frames andfloors and stringers and things had learned how to lock down and lock upon one another, and endure this new kind of strain. 

They found ample time to practise, for they were sixteen days at sea, and it was foul weather till within a hundred miles of New York. TheDimbula picked up her pilot, and came in covered with salt and red rust. Her funnel was dirty-grey from top to bottom; two boats had been carriedaway; three copper ventilators looked like hats after a fight with thepolice; the bridge had a dimple in the middle of it; the house thatcovered the steam steering-gear was split as with hatchets; there wasa bill for small repairs in the engine-room almost as long as thescrew-shaft; the forward cargo-hatch fell into bucket-staves whenthey raised the iron cross-bars; and the steam-capstan had been badlywrenched on its bed. Altogether, as the skipper said, it was "a prettygeneral average. "

"But she's soupled, " he said to Mr. Buchanan. "For all her dead-weightshe rode like a yacht. Ye mind that last blow off the Banks--I am proudof her, Buck. "

"It's vera good, " said the chief engineer, looking along the dishevelleddecks. "Now, a man judgin' superfeecially would say we were a wreck, butwe know otherwise--by experience. "

Naturally everything in the Dimbula fairly stiffened with pride, and theforemast and the forward collision-bulkhead, who are pushing creatures, begged the Steam to warn the Port of New York of their arrival. "Tellthose big boats all about us, " they said. "They seem to take us quite asa matter of course. "

It was a glorious, clear, dead calm morning, and in single file, withless than half a mile between each, their bands playing and theirtugboats shouting and waving handkerchiefs, were the Majestic, theParis, the Touraine, the Servia, the Kaiser Wilhelm II, and theWerkendam, all statelily going out to sea. As the Dimbula shifted herhelm to give the great boats clear way, the Steam (who knows far toomuch to mind making an exhibition of himself now and then) shouted:

"Oyez! Oyez! Oyez! Princes, Dukes, and Barons of the High Seas! Knowye by these presents, we are the Dimbula, fifteen days nine hours fromLiverpool, having crossed the Atlantic with four thousand ton of cargofor the first time in our career! We have not foundered. We arehere. 'Eer! 'Eer! We are not disabled. But we have had a time whollyunparalleled in the annals of ship-building! Our decks were swept! Wepitched; we rolled! We thought we were going to die! Hi! Hi! But wedidn't. We wish to give notice that we have come to New York all the wayacross the Atlantic, through the worst weather in the world; and we arethe Dimbula! We are--arr--ha--ha--ha-r-r-r!"

The beautiful line of boats swept by as steadily as the procession ofthe Seasons. The Dimbula heard the Majestic say, "Hmph!" and the Parisgrunted, "How!" and the Touraine said, "Oui!" with a little coquettishflicker of steam; and the Servia said, "Haw!" and the Kaiser and theWerkendam said, "Hoch!" Dutch fashion--and that was absolutely all. 

"I did my best, " said the Steam, gravely, "but I don't think they weremuch impressed with us, somehow. Do you?"

"It's simply disgusting, " said the bow-plates. "They might have seenwhat we've been through. There isn't a ship on the sea that has sufferedas we have--is there, now?"

"Well, I wouldn't go so far as that, " said the Steam, "because I'veworked on some of those boats, and sent them through weather quite asbad as the fortnight that we've had, in six days; and some of them area little over ten thousand tons, I believe. Now I've seen the Majestic, for instance, ducked from her bows to her funnel; and I've helped theArizona, I think she was, to back off an iceberg she met with one darknight; and I had to run out of the Paris's engine-room, one day, becausethere was thirty foot of water in it. Of course, I don't deny--" TheSteam shut off suddenly, as a tugboat, loaded with a political club anda brass band, that had been to see a New York Senator off to Europe, crossed their bows, going to Hoboken. There was a long silence thatreached, without a break, from the cut-water to the propeller-blades ofthe Dimbula. 

Then a new, big voice said slowly and thickly, as though the owner hadjust waked up: "It's my conviction that I have made a fool of myself. "

The Steam knew what had happened at once; for when a ship finds herselfall the talking of the separate pieces ceases and melts into one voice, which is the soul of the ship. 

"Who are you?" he said, with a laugh. "I am the Dimbula, of course. I'venever been anything else except that--and a fool!"

The tugboat, which was doing its very best to be run down, got away justin time; its band playing clashily and brassily a popular but impoliteair:

 In the days of old Rameses--are you on? In the days of old Rameses--are you on? In the days of old Rameses, That story had paresis, Are you on--are you on--are you on?

"Well, I'm glad you've found yourself, " said the Steam. "To tell thetruth, I was a little tired of talking to all those ribs and stringers. Here's Quarantine. After that we'll go to our wharf and clean up alittle, and--next month we'll do it all over again. "

THE TOMB OF HIS ANCESTORS

Some people will tell you that if there were but a single loaf of breadin all India it would be divided equally between the Plowdens, theTrevors, the Beadons, and the Rivett-Carnacs. That is only one way ofsaying that certain families serve India generation after generation, asdolphins follow in line across the open sea. 

Let us take a small and obscure case. There has been at least onerepresentative of the Devonshire Chinns in or near Central India sincethe days of Lieutenant-Fireworker Humphrey Chinn, of the Bombay EuropeanRegiment, who assisted at the capture of Seringapatam in 1799. AlfredEllis Chinn, Humphrey's younger brother, commanded a regiment of Bombaygrenadiers from 1804 to 1813, when he saw some mixed fighting; and in1834 John Chinn of the same family--we will call him John Chinn theFirst--came to light as a level-headed administrator in time of troubleat a place called Mundesur. He died young, but left his mark on the newcountry, and the Honourable the Board of Directors of the Honourablethe East India Company embodied his virtues in a stately resolution, andpaid for the expenses of his tomb among the Satpura hills. 

He was succeeded by his son, Lionel Chinn, who left the little oldDevonshire home just in time to be severely wounded in the Mutiny. Hespent his working life within a hundred and fifty miles of John Chinn'sgrave, and rose to the command of a regiment of small, wild hill-men, most of whom had known his father. His son John was born in the smallthatched-roofed, mud-walled cantonment, which is even to-day eightymiles from the nearest railway, in the heart of a scrubby, tigerishcountry. Colonel Lionel Chinn served thirty years and retired. In theCanal his steamer passed the outward-bound troop-ship, carrying his soneastward to the family duty. 

The Chinns are luckier than most folk, because they know exactly whatthey must do. A clever Chinn passes for the Bombay Civil Service, andgets away to Central India, where everybody is glad to see him. A dullChinn enters the Police Department or the Woods and Forest, and sooneror later he, too, appears in Central India, and that is what gave riseto the saying, "Central India is inhabited by Bhils, Mairs, and Chinns, all very much alike. " The breed is small-boned, dark, and silent, andthe stupidest of them are good shots. John Chinn the Second was ratherclever, but as the eldest son he entered the army, according to Chinntradition. His duty was to abide in his father's regiment for the termof his natural life, though the corps was one which most men would havepaid heavily to avoid. They were irregulars, small, dark, and blackish, clothed in rifle-green with black-leather trimmings; and friends calledthem the "Wuddars, " which means a race of low-caste people who digup rats to eat. But the Wuddars did not resent it. They were the onlyWuddars, and their points of pride were these:

Firstly, they had fewer English officers than any native regiment. Secondly, their subalterns were not mounted on parade, as is the generalrule, but walked at the head of their men. A man who can hold his ownwith the Wuddars at their quickstep must be sound in wind and limb. Thirdly, they were the most pukka shikarries (out-and-out hunters)in all India. Fourthly-up to one-hundredthly--they were theWuddars--Chinn's Irregular Bhil Levies of the old days, but now, henceforward and for ever, the Wuddars. 

No Englishman entered their mess except for love or through familyusage. The officers talked to their soldiers in a tongue not two hundredwhite folk in India understood; and the men were their children, alldrawn from the Bhils, who are, perhaps, the strangest of the manystrange races in India. They were, and at heart are, wild men, furtive, shy, full of untold superstitions. The races whom we call natives of thecountry found the Bhil in possession of the land when they first brokeinto that part of the world thousands of years ago. The books call themPre-Aryan, Aboriginal, Dravidian, and so forth; and, in other words, that is what the Bhils call themselves. When a Rajput chief whose bardscan sing his pedigree backwards for twelve hundred years is set on thethrone, his investiture is not complete till he has been marked onthe forehead with blood from the veins of a Bhil. The Rajputs say theceremony has no meaning, but the Bhil knows that it is the last, lastshadow of his old rights as the long-ago owner of the soil. 

Centuries of oppression and massacre made the Bhil a cruel andhalf-crazy thief and cattle-stealer, and when the English came he seemedto be almost as open to civilisation as the tigers of his own jungles. But John Chinn the First, father of Lionel, grandfather of our John, went into his country, lived with him, learned his language, shot thedeer that stole his poor crops, and won his confidence, so that someBhils learned to plough and sow, while others were coaxed into theCompany's service to police their friends. 

When they understood that standing in line did not mean instantexecution, they accepted soldiering as a cumbrous but amusing kind ofsport, and were zealous to keep the wild Bhils under control. Thatwas the thin edge of the wedge. John Chinn the First gave them writtenpromises that, if they were good from a certain date, the Governmentwould overlook previous offences; and since John Chinn was never knownto break his word--he promised once to hang a Bhil locally esteemedinvulnerable, and hanged him in front of his tribe for seven provedmurders--the Bhils settled down as steadily as they knew how. It wasslow, unseen work, of the sort that is being done all over India to-day;and though John Chinn's only reward came, as I have said, in the shapeof a grave at Government expense, the little people of the hills neverforgot him. 

Colonel Lionel Chinn knew and loved them, too, and they were very fairlycivilised, for Bhils, before his service ended. Many of them couldhardly be distinguished from low-caste Hindoo farmers; but in the south, where John Chinn the First was buried, the wildest still clung to theSatpura ranges, cherishing a legend that some day Jan Chinn, as theycalled him, would return to his own. In the mean time they mistrustedthe white man and his ways. The least excitement would stampede them, plundering, at random, and now and then killing; but if they werehandled discreetly they grieved like children, and promised never to doit again. 

The Bhils of the regiment--the uniformed men--were virtuous in manyways, but they needed humouring. They felt bored and homesick unlesstaken after tiger as beaters; and their cold-blooded daring--all Wuddarsshoot tigers on foot: it is their caste-mark--made even the officerswonder. They would follow up a wounded tiger as unconcernedly as thoughit were a sparrow with a broken wing; and this through a country full ofcaves and rifts and pits, where a wild beast could hold a dozen men athis mercy. Now and then some little man was brought to barracks with hishead smashed in or his ribs torn away; but his companions never learnedcaution; they contented themselves with settling the tiger. 

Young John Chinn was decanted at the verandah of the Wuddars' lonelymess-house from the back seat of a two-wheeled cart, his gun-casescascading all round him. The slender little, hookey-nosed boy lookedforlorn as a strayed goat when he slapped the white dust off his knees, and the cart jolted down the glaring road. But in his heart he wascontented. After all, this was the place where he had been born, andthings were not much changed since he had been sent to England, a child, fifteen years ago. 

There were a few new buildings, but the air and the smell and thesunshine were the same; and the little green men who crossed theparade-ground looked very familiar. Three weeks ago John Chinn wouldhave said he did not remember a word of the Bhil tongue, but at themess door he found his lips moving in sentences that he did notunderstand--bits of old nursery rhymes, and tail-ends of such orders ashis father used to give the men. 

The Colonel watched him come up the steps, and laughed. 

"Look!" he said to the Major. "No need to ask the young un's breed. He'sa pukka Chinn. 'Might be his father in the Fifties over again. "

"'Hope he'll shoot as straight, " said the Major. "He's brought enoughironmongery with him. "

"'Wouldn't be a Chinn if he didn't. Watch him blowin' his nose. 'RegularChinn beak. 'Flourishes his handkerchief like his father. It's thesecond edition--line for line. "

"'Fairy tale, by Jove!" said the Major, peering through the slats of thejalousies. "If he's the lawful heir, he'll. .. . Now old Chinn could nomore pass that chick without fiddling with it than. .. . "

"His son!" said the Colonel, jumping up. 

"Well, I be blowed!" said the Major. The boy's eye had been caught by asplit-reed screen that hung on a slew between the veranda pillars, and, mechanically, he had tweaked the edge to set it level. Old Chinn hadsworn three times a day at that screen for many years; he could neverget it to his satisfaction. 

His son entered the anteroom in the middle of a fivefold silence. Theymade him welcome for his father's sake and, as they took stock of him, for his own. He was ridiculously like the portrait of the Colonel onthe wall, and when he had washed a little of the dust from his throat hewent to his quarters with the old man's short, noiseless jungle-step. 

"So much for heredity, " said the Major. "That comes of four generationsamong the Bhils. "

"And the men know it, " said a Wing officer. "They've been waiting forthis youth with their tongues hanging out. I am persuaded that, unlesshe absolutely beats 'em over the head, they'll lie down by companies andworship him. "

"Nothin' like havin' a father before you, " said the Major. "I'm aparvenu with my chaps. I've only been twenty years in the regiment, and my revered parent he was a simple squire. There's no getting atthe bottom of a Bhil's mind. Now, why is the superior bearer that youngChinn brought with him fleeing across country with his bundle?"He stepped into the verandah, and shouted after the man--a typicalnew-joined subaltern's servant who speaks English and cheats inproportion. 

"What is it?" he called. 

"Plenty bad man here. I going, sar, " was the reply. "Have taken Sahib'skeys, and say will shoot. "

"Doocid lucid--doocid convincin'. How those up-country thieves can legit! He has been badly frightened by some one. " The Major strolled to hisquarters to dress for mess. 

Young Chinn, walking like a man in a dream, had fetched a compassround the entire cantonment before going to his own tiny cottage. Thecaptain's quarters, in which he had been born, delayed him for a little;then he looked at the well on the parade-ground, where he had sat ofevenings with his nurse, and at the ten-by-fourteen church, where theofficers went to service if a chaplain of any official creed happened tocome along. It seemed very small as compared with the gigantic buildingshe used to stare up at, but it was the same place. 

From time to time he passed a knot of silent soldiers, who saluted. They might have been the very men who had carried him on their backswhen he was in his first knickerbockers. A faint light burned in hisroom, and, as he entered, hands clasped his feet, and a voice murmuredfrom the floor. 

"Who is it?" said young Chinn, not knowing he spoke in the Bhil tongue. 

"I bore you in my arms, Sahib, when I was a strong man and you werea small one--crying, crying, crying! I am your servant, as I was yourfather's before you. We are all your servants. "

Young Chinn could not trust himself to reply, and the voice went on:

"I have taken your keys from that fat foreigner, and sent him away; andthe studs are in the shirt for mess. Who should know, if I do not know?And so the baby has become a man, and forgets his nurse; but my nephewshall make a good servant, or I will beat him twice a day. "

Then there rose up, with a rattle, as straight as a Bhil arrow, a littlewhite-haired wizened ape of a man, with medals and orders on his tunic, stammering, saluting, and trembling. Behind him a young and wiry Bhil, in uniform, was taking the trees out of Chinn's mess-boots. 

Chinn's eyes were full of tears. The old man held out his keys. 

"Foreigners are bad people. He will never come back again. We are allservants of your father's son. Has the Sahib forgotten who took him tosee the trapped tiger in the village across the river, when his motherwas so frightened and he was so brave?"

The scene came back to Chinn in great magic-lantern flashes. "Bukta!" hecried; and all in a breath: "You promised nothing should hurt me. Is itBukta?"

The man was at his feet a second time. "He has not forgotten. Heremembers his own people as his father remembered. Now can I die. Butfirst I will live and show the Sahib how to kill tigers. That thatyonder is my nephew. If he is not a good servant, beat him and send himto me, and I will surely kill him, for now the Sahib is with his ownpeople. Ai, Jan haba--Jan haba! My Jan haba! I will stay here and seethat this does his work well. Take off his boots, fool. Sit down uponthe bed, Sahib, and let me look. It is Jan haba. "

He pushed forward the hilt of his sword as a sign of service, whichis an honour paid only to viceroys, governors, generals, or to littlechildren whom one loves dearly. Chinn touched the hilt mechanically withthree fingers, muttering he knew not what. It happened to be the oldanswer of his childhood, when Bukta in jest called him the littleGeneral Sahib. 

The Major's quarters were opposite Chinn's, and when he heard hisservant gasp with surprise he looked across the room. Then the Majorsat on the bed and whistled; for the spectacle of the senior nativecommissioned officer of the regiment, an "unmixed" Bhil, a Companion ofthe Order of British India, with thirty-five years' spotless servicein the army, and a rank among his own people superior to that of manyBengal princelings, valeting the last-joined subaltern, was a little toomuch for his nerves. 

The throaty bugles blew the Mess-call that has a long legend behind it. First a few piercing notes like the shrieks of beaters in a far-awaycover, and next, large, full, and smooth, the refrain of the wild song:"And oh, and oh, the green pulse of Mundore--Mundore!"

"All little children were in bed when the Sahib heard that call last, "said Bukta, passing Chinn a clean handkerchief. The call brought backmemories of his cot under the mosquito-netting, his mother's kiss, andthe sound of footsteps growing fainter as he dropped asleep among hismen. So he hooked the dark collar of his new mess-jacket, and went todinner like a prince who has newly inherited his father's crown. 

Old Bukta swaggered forth curling his whiskers. He knew his own value, and no money and no rank within the gift of the Government would haveinduced him to put studs in young officers' shirts, or to hand themclean ties. Yet, when he took off his uniform that night, and squattedamong his fellows for a quiet smoke, he told them what he had done, andthey said that he was entirely right. Thereat Bukta propounded atheory which to a white mind would have seemed raving insanity; butthe whispering, level-headed little men of war considered it from everypoint of view, and thought that there might be a great deal in it. 

At mess under the oil-lamps the talk turned as usual to the unfailingsubject of shikar--big game-shooting of every kind and under all sortsof conditions. Young Chinn opened his eyes when he understood that eachone of his companions had shot several tigers in the Wuddar style--onfoot, that is--making no more of the business than if the brute had beena dog. 

"In nine cases out of ten, " said the Major, "a tiger is almost asdangerous as a porcupine. But the tenth time you come home feet first. "

That set all talking, and long before midnight Chinn's brain was ina whirl with stories of tigers--man-eaters and cattle-killers eachpursuing his own business as methodically as clerks in an office; newtigers that had lately come into such-and-such a district; and old, friendly beasts of great cunning, known by nicknames in the mess-such as"Puggy, " who was lazy, with huge paws, and "Mrs. Malaprop, " who turnedup when you never expected her, and made female noises. Then they spokeof Bhil superstitions, a wide and picturesque field, till young Chinnhinted that they must be pulling his leg. 

"'Deed, we aren't, " said a man on his left. "We know all about you. You're a Chinn and all that, and you've a sort of vested right here; butif you don't believe what we're telling you, what will you do when oldBukta begins his stories? He knows about ghost-tigers, and tigers thatgo to a hell of their own; and tigers that walk on their hind feet; andyour grandpapa's riding-tiger, as well. 'Odd he hasn't spoken of thatyet. "

"You know you've an ancestor buried down Satpura way, don't you?" saidthe Major, as Chinn smiled irresolutely. 

"Of course I do, " said Chinn, who had the chronicle of the Book of Chinnby heart. It lies in a worn old ledger on the Chinese lacquer tablebehind the piano in the Devonshire home, and the children are allowed tolook at it on Sundays. 

"Well, I wasn't sure. Your revered ancestor, my boy, according to theBhils, has a tiger of his own--a saddle-tiger that he rides roundthe country whenever he feels inclined. I don't call it decent in anex-Collector's ghost; but that is what the Southern Bhils believe. Evenour men, who might be called moderately cool, don't care to beat thatcountry if they hear that Jan Chinn is running about on his tiger. Itis supposed to be a clouded animal--not stripy, but blotchy, like atortoise-shell tom-cat. No end of a brute, it is, and a sure sign of waror pestilence or--or something. There's a nice family legend for you. "

"What's the origin of it, d' you suppose?" said Chinn. 

"Ask the Satpura Bhils. Old Jan Chinn was a mighty hunter before theLord. Perhaps it was the tiger's revenge, or perhaps he's huntin' 'emstill. You must go to his tomb one of these days and inquire. Bukta willprobably attend to that. He was asking me before you came whether by anyill-luck you had already bagged your tiger. If not, he is going to enteryou under his own wing. Of course, for you of all men it's imperative. You'll have a first-class time with Bukta. "

The Major was not wrong. Bukta kept an anxious eye on young Chinn atdrill, and it was noticeable that the first time the new officer liftedup his voice in an order the whole line quivered. Even the Colonelwas taken aback, for it might have been Lionel Chinn returned fromDevonshire with a new lease of life. Bukta had continued to develop hispeculiar theory among his intimates, and it was accepted as a matter offaith in the lines, since every word and gesture on young Chinn's partso confirmed it. 

The old man arranged early that his darling should wipe out the reproachof not having shot a tiger; but he was not content to take the first orany beast that happened to arrive. In his own villages he dispensedthe high, low, and middle justice, and when his people--naked andfluttered--came to him with word of a beast marked down, he bade themsend spies to the kills and the watering-places, that he might be surethe quarry was such an one as suited the dignity of such a man. 

Three or four times the reckless trackers returned, most truthfullysaying that the beast was mangy, undersized--a tigress worn withnursing, or a broken-toothed old male--and Bukta would curb youngChinn's impatience. 

At last, a noble animal was marked down--a ten-foot cattle-killer witha huge roll of loose skin along the belly, glossy-hided, full-frilledabout the neck, whiskered, frisky, and young. He had slain a man in puresport, they said. 

"Let him be fed, " quoth Bukta, and the villagers dutifully drove out acow to amuse him, that he might lie up near by. 

Princes and potentates have taken ship to India and spent great moneysfor the mere glimpse of beasts one-half as fine as this of Bukta's. 

"It is not good, " said he to the Colonel, when he asked forshooting-leave, "that my Colonel's son who may be--that my Colonel'sson should lose his maidenhead on any small jungle beast. That may comeafter. I have waited long for this which is a tiger. He has come in fromthe Mair country. In seven days we will return with the skin. "

The mess gnashed their teeth enviously. Bukta, had he chosen, mighthave invited them all. But he went out alone with Chinn, two days in ashooting-cart and a day on foot, till they came to a rocky, glary valleywith a pool of good water in it. It was a parching day, and the boyvery naturally stripped and went in for a bathe, leaving Bukta by theclothes. A white skin shows far against brown jungle, and what Buktabeheld on Chinn's back and right shoulder dragged him forward step bystep with staring eyeballs. 

"I'd forgotten it isn't decent to strip before a man of his position, "said Chinn, flouncing in the water. "How the little devil stares! Whatis it, Bukta?" "The Mark!" was the whispered answer. 

"It is nothing. You know how it is with my people!" Chinn wasannoyed. The dull-red birth-mark on his shoulder, something like aconventionalised Tartar cloud, had slipped his memory or he wouldnot have bathed. It occurred, so they said at home, in alternategenerations, appearing, curiously enough, eight or nine years afterbirth, and, save that it was part of the Chinn inheritance, would notbe considered pretty. He hurried ashore, dressed again, and went ontill they met two or three Bhils, who promptly fell on their faces. "Mypeople, " grunted Bukta, not condescending to notice them. "And so yourpeople, Sahib. When I was a young man we were fewer, but not so weak. Now we are many, but poor stock. As may be remembered. How will youshoot him, Sahib? From a tree; from a shelter which my people shallbuild; by day or by night?"

"On foot and in the daytime, " said young Chinn. 

"That was your custom, as I have heard, " said Bukta to himself "I willget news of him. Then you and I will go to him. I will carry one gun. You have yours. There is no need of more. What tiger shall stand againstthee?"

He was marked down by a little water-hole at the head of a ravine, full-gorged and half asleep in the May sunlight. He was walked up like apartridge, and he turned to do battle for his life. Bukta made no motionto raise his rifle, but kept his eyes on Chinn, who met the shatteringroar of the charge with a single shot--it seemed to him hours as hesighted--which tore through the throat, smashing the backbone below theneck and between the shoulders. The brute couched, choked, and fell, andbefore Chinn knew well what had happened Bukta bade him stay still whilehe paced the distance between his feet and the ringing jaws. 

"Fifteen, " said Bukta. "Short paces. No need for a second shot, Sahib. He bleeds cleanly where he lies, and we need not spoil the skin. I saidthere would be no need of these, but they came--in case. "

Suddenly the sides of the ravine were crowned with the heads of Bukta'speople--a force that could have blown the ribs out of the beast hadChinn's shot failed; but their guns were hidden, and they appeared asinterested beaters, some five or six waiting the word to skin. Buktawatched the life fade from the wild eyes, lifted one hand, and turned onhis heel. 

"No need to show that we care, " said he. "Now, after this, we can killwhat we choose. Put out your hand, Sahib. "

Chinn obeyed. It was entirely steady, and Bukta nodded. "That alsowas your custom. My men skin quickly. They will carry the skin tocantonments. Will the Sahib come to my poor village for the night and, perhaps, forget that I am his officer?"

"But those men--the beaters. They have worked hard, and perhaps--"

"Oh, if they skin clumsily, we will skin them. They are my people. Inthe lines I am one thing. Here I am another. "

This was very true. When Bukta doffed uniform and reverted to thefragmentary dress of his own people, he left his civilisation of drillin the next world. That night, after a little talk with his subjects, he devoted to an orgie; and a Bhil orgie is a thing not to be safelywritten about. Chinn, flushed with triumph, was in the thick of it, but the meaning of the mysteries was hidden. Wild folk came and pressedabout his knees with offerings. He gave his flask to the elders of thevillage. They grew eloquent, and wreathed him about with flowers. Giftsand loans, not all seemly, were thrust upon him, and infernal musicrolled and maddened round red fires, while singers sang songs of theancient times, and danced peculiar dances. The aboriginal liquors arevery potent, and Chinn was compelled to taste them often, but, unlessthe stuff had been drugged, how came he to fall asleep suddenly, and towaken late the next day--half a march from the village?

"The Sahib was very tired. A little before dawn he went to sleep, " Buktaexplained. "My people carried him here, and now it is time we should goback to cantonments. "

The voice, smooth and deferential, the step, steady and silent, madeit hard to believe that only a few hours before Bukta was yelling andcapering with naked fellow-devils of the scrub. 

"My people were very pleased to see the Sahib. They will never forget. When next the Sahib goes out recruiting, he will go to my people, andthey will give him as many men as we need. "

Chinn kept his own counsel, except as to the shooting of the tiger, and Bukta embroidered that tale with a shameless tongue. The skin wascertainly one of the finest ever hung up in the mess, and the first ofmany. When Bukta could not accompany his boy on shooting-trips, he tookcare to put him in good hands, and Chinn learned more of the mindand desire of the wild Bhil in his marches and campings, by talks attwilight or at wayside pools, than an uninstructed man could have comeat in a lifetime. 

Presently his men in the regiment grew bold to speak of theirrelatives--mostly in trouble--and to lay cases of tribal custom beforehim. They would say, squatting in his verandah at twilight, after theeasy, confidential style of the Wuddars, that such-and-such a bachelorhad run away with such-and-such a wife at a far-off village. Now, howmany cows would Chinn Sahib consider a just fine? Or, again, if writtenorder came from the Government that a Bhil was to repair to a walledcity of the plains to give evidence in a law-court, would it be wise todisregard that order? On the other hand, if it were obeyed, would therash voyager return alive?

"But what have I to do with these things?" Chinn demanded of Bukta, impatiently. "I am a soldier. I do not know the law. "

"Hoo! Law is for fools and white men. Give them a large and loud order, and they will abide by it. Thou art their law. "

"But wherefore?"

Every trace of expression left Bukta's countenance. The idea might havesmitten him for the first time. "How can I say?" he replied. "Perhapsit is on account of the name. A Bhil does not love strange things. Givethem orders, Sahib--two, three, four words at a time such as they cancarry away in their heads. That is enough. "

Chinn gave orders then, valiantly, not realising that a word spoken inhaste before mess became the dread unappealable law of villages beyondthe smoky hills was, in truth, no less than the Law of Jan Chinn theFirst, who, so the whispered legend ran, had come back to earth, tooversee the third generation, in the body and bones of his grandson. 

There could be no sort of doubt in this matter. All the Bhils knew thatJan Chinn reincarnated had honoured Bukta's village with his presenceafter slaying his first--in this life--tiger; that he had eaten anddrunk with the people, as he was used; and--Bukta must have druggedChinn's liquor very deeply--upon his back and right shoulder all men hadseen the same angry red Flying Cloud that the high Gods had set onthe flesh of Jan Chinn the First when first he came to the Bhil. Asconcerned the foolish white world which has no eyes, he was a slim andyoung officer in the Wuddars; but his own people knew he was Jan Chinn, who had made the Bhil a man; and, believing, they hastened to carry hiswords, careful never to alter them on the way. 

Because the savage and the child who plays lonely games have onehorror of being laughed at or questioned, the little folk kept theirconvictions to themselves; and the Colonel, who thought he knew hisregiment, never guessed that each one of the six hundred quick-footed, beady-eyed rank-and-file, to attention beside their rifles, believedserenely and unshakenly that the subaltern on the left flank of the linewas a demi-god twice born--tutelary deity of their land and people. TheEarth-gods themselves had stamped the incarnation, and who would dare todoubt the handiwork of the Earth-gods?

Chinn, being practical above all things, saw that his family name servedhim well in the lines and in camp. His men gave no trouble--one does notcommit regimental offences with a god in the chair of justice--and hewas sure of the best beaters in the district when he needed them. Theybelieved that the protection of Jan Chinn the First cloaked them, andwere bold in that belief beyond the utmost daring of excited Bhils. 

His quarters began to look like an amateur natural-history museum, in spite of duplicate heads and horns and skulls that he sent home toDevonshire. The people, very humanly, learned the weak side of theirgod. It is true he was unbribable, but bird-skins, butterflies, beetles, and, above all, news of big game pleased him. In other respects, too, helived up to the Chinn tradition. He was fever-proof. A night's sittingout over a tethered goat in a damp valley, that would have filled theMajor with a month's malaria, had no effect on him. He was, as theysaid, "salted before he was born. "

Now in the autumn of his second year's service an uneasy rumour creptout of the earth and ran about among the Bhils. Chinn heard nothingof it till a brother-officer said across the mess-table: "Your reveredancestor's on the rampage in the Satpura country. You'd better look himup. "

"I don't want to be disrespectful, but I'm a little sick of my reveredancestor. Bukta talks of nothing else. What's the old boy supposed to bedoing now?"

"Riding cross-country by moonlight on his processional tiger. That's thestory. He's been seen by about two thousand Bhils, skipping along thetops of the Satpuras, and scaring people to death. They believeit devoutly, and all the Satpura chaps are worshipping away at hisshrine--tomb, I mean--like good uns. You really ought to go down there. Must be a queer thing to see your grandfather treated as a god. "

"What makes you think there's any truth in the tale?" said Chinn. 

"Because all our men deny it. They say they've never heard of Chinn'stiger. Now that's a manifest lie, because every Bhil has. "

"There's only one thing you've overlooked, " said the Colonel, thoughtfully. "When a local god reappears on earth, it's always anexcuse for trouble of some kind; and those Satpura Bhils are about aswild as your grandfather left them, young un. It means something. "

"Meanin' they may go on the war-path?" said Chinn. 

"'Can't say--as yet. 'Shouldn't be surprised a little bit. "

"I haven't been told a syllable. "

"Proves it all the more. They are keeping something back. "

"Bukta tells me everything, too, as a rule. Now, why didn't he tell methat?"

Chinn put the question directly to the old man that night, and theanswer surprised him. 

"Why should I tell what is well known? Yes, the Clouded Tiger is out inthe Satpura country. "

"What do the wild Bhils think that it means?"

"They do not know. They wait. Sahib, what is coming? Say only one littleword, and we will be content. "

"We? What have tales from the south, where the jungly Bhils live, to dowith drilled men?"

"When Jan Chinn wakes is no time for any Bhil to be quiet. "

"But he has not waked, Bukta. "

"Sahib"--the old man's eyes were full of tender reproof--"if he does notwish to be seen, why does he go abroad in the moonlight? We know heis awake, but we do not know what he desires. Is it a sign for all theBhils, or one that concerns the Satpura folk alone? Say one little word, Sahib, that I may carry it to the lines, and send on to our villages. Why does Jan Chinn ride out? Who has done wrong? Is it pestilence? Is itmurrain? Will our children die? Is it a sword? Remember, Sahib, weare thy people and thy servants, and in this life I bore thee in myarms--not knowing. "

"Bukta has evidently looked on the cup this evening, " Chinn thought;"but if I can do anything to soothe the old chap I must. It's like theMutiny rumours on a small scale. "

He dropped into a deep wicker chair, over which was thrown his firsttiger-skin, and his weight on the cushion flapped the clawed paws overhis shoulders. He laid hold of them mechanically as he spoke, drawingthe painted hide, cloak-fashion, about him. 

"Now will I tell the truth, Bukta, " he said, leaning forward, the driedmuzzle on his shoulder, to invent a specious lie. 

"I see that it is the truth, " was the answer, in a shaking voice. 

"Jan Chinn goes abroad among the Satpuras, riding on the Clouded Tiger, ye say? Be it so. Therefore the sign of the wonder is for the SatpuraBhils only, and does not touch the Bhils who plough in the north andeast, the Bhils of the Khandesh, or any others, except the SatpuraBhils, who, as we know, are wild and foolish. "

"It is, then, a sign for them. Good or bad?"

"Beyond doubt, good. For why should Jan Chinn make evil to those whomhe has made men? The nights over yonder are hot; it is ill to lie in onebed over-long without turning, and Jan Chinn would look again uponhis people. So he rises, whistles his Clouded Tiger, and goes abroada little to breathe the cool air. If the Satpura Bhils kept to theirvillages, and did not wander after dark, they would not see him. Indeed, Bukta, it is no more than that he would see the light again in his owncountry. Send this news south, and say that it is my word. "

Bukta bowed to the floor. "Good Heavens!" thought Chinn, "and thisblinking pagan is a first-class officer, and as straight as a die! I mayas well round it off neatly. " He went on:

"If the Satpura Bhils ask the meaning of the sign, tell them that JanChinn would see how they kept their old promises of good living. Perhapsthey have plundered; perhaps they mean to disobey the orders of theGovernment; perhaps there is a dead man in the jungle; and so Jan Chinnhas come to see. "

"Is he, then, angry?"

"Bah! Am I ever angry with my Bhils? I say angry words, and threatenmany things. Thou knowest, Bukta. I have seen thee smile behind thehand. I know, and thou knowest. The Bhils are my children. I have saidit many times. "

"Ay. We be thy children, " said Bukta. 

"And no otherwise is it with Jan Chinn, my father's father. He would seethe land he loved and the people once again. It is a good ghost, Bukta. I say it. Go and tell them. And I do hope devoutly, " he added, "that itwill calm 'em down. " Flinging back the tiger-skin, he rose with a long, unguarded yawn that showed his well-kept teeth. 

Bukta fled, to be received in the lines by a knot of panting inquirers. 

"It is true, " said Bukta. "He wrapped him-self in the skin, and spokefrom it. He would see his own country again. The sign is not for us;and, indeed, he is a young man. How should he lie idle of nights? Hesays his bed is too hot and the air is bad. He goes to and fro for thelove of night-running. He has said it. "

The grey-whiskered assembly shuddered. 

"He says the Bhils are his children. Ye know he does not lie. He hassaid it to me. "

"But what of the Satpura Bhils? What means the sign for them?"

"Nothing. It is only night-running, as I have said. He rides to see ifthey obey the Government, as he taught them to do in his first life. "

"And what if they do not?"

"He did not say. "

The light went out in Chinn's quarters. 

"Look, " said Bukta. "Now he goes away. None the less it is a good ghost, as he has said. How shall we fear Jan Chinn, who made the Bhil a man?His protection is on us; and ye know Jan Chinn never broke a protectionspoken or written on paper. When he is older and has found him a wife hewill lie in his bed till morning. "

A commanding officer is generally aware of the regimental state of minda little before the men; and this is why the Colonel said, a few dayslater, that some one had been putting the Fear of God into the Wuddars. As he was the only person officially entitled to do this, it distressedhim to see such unanimous virtue. "It's too good to last, " he said. "Ionly wish I could find out what the little chaps mean. "

The explanation, as it seemed to him, came at the change of the moon, when he received orders to hold himself in readiness to "allay anypossible excitement" among the Satpura Bhils, who were, to put itmildly, uneasy because a paternal Government had sent up against thema Mahratta State-educated vaccinator, with lancets, lymph, andan officially registered calf. In the language of State, they had"manifested a strong objection to all prophylactic measures, " had"forcibly detained the vaccinator, " and "were on the point of neglectingor evading their tribal obligations. "

"That means they are in a blue funk--same as they were at census-time, "said the Colonel; "and if we stampede them into the hills we'll nevercatch 'em, in the first place, and, in the second, they'll whoop offplundering till further orders. 'Wonder who the God-forsaken idiot iswho is trying to vaccinate a Bhil. I knew trouble was coming. Onegood thing is that they'll only use local corps, and we can knockup something we'll call a campaign, and let them down easy. Fancy uspotting our best beaters because they don't want to be vaccinated!They're only crazy with fear. "

"Don't you think, sir, " said Chinn, the next day, "that perhaps youcould give me a fortnight's shooting-leave?"

"Desertion in the face of the enemy, by Jove!" The Colonel laughed. "Imight, but I'd have to antedate it a little, because we're warned forservice, as you might say. However, we'll assume that you applied forleave three days ago, and are now well on your way south. "

"I'd like to take Bukta with me. "

"Of course, yes. I think that will be the best plan. You've some kind ofhereditary influence with the little chaps, and they may listen to youwhen a glimpse of our uniforms would drive them wild. You've never beenin that part of the world before, have you? Take care they don't sendyou to your family vault in your youth and innocence. I believe you'llbe all right if you can get 'em to listen to you. "

"I think so, sir; but if--if they should accidentally put an--make assesof 'emselves--they might, you know--I hope you'll represent that theywere only frightened. There isn't an ounce of real vice in 'em, andI should never forgive myself if any one of--of my name got them intotrouble. "

The Colonel nodded, but said nothing. 

Chinn and Bukta departed at once. Bukta did not say that, ever since theofficial vaccinator had been dragged into the hills by indignant Bhils, runner after runner had skulked up to the lines, entreating, withforehead in the dust, that Jan Chinn should come and explain thisunknown horror that hung over his people. 

The portent of the Clouded Tiger was now too clear. Let Jan Chinncomfort his own, for vain was the help of mortal man. Bukta toned downthese beseechings to a simple request for Chinn's presence. Nothingwould have pleased the old man better than a rough-and-tumble campaignagainst the Satpuras, whom he, as an "unmixed" Bhil, despised; but hehad a duty to all his nation as Jan Chinn's interpreter; and he devoutlybelieved that forty plagues would fall on his village if he tamperedwith that obligation. Besides, Jan Chinn knew all things, and he rodethe Clouded Tiger. 

They covered thirty miles a day on foot and pony, raising the bluewall-like line of the Satpuras as swiftly as might be. Bukta was verysilent. 

They began the steep climb a little after noon, but it was near sunsetere they reached the stone platform clinging to the side of a rifted, jungle-covered hill, where Jan Chinn the First was laid, as he haddesired, that he might overlook his people. All India is full ofneglected graves that date from the beginning of the eighteenthcentury--tombs of forgotten colonels of corps long since disbanded;mates of East India men who went on shooting expeditions and never cameback; factors, agents, writers, and ensigns of the Honourable the EastIndia Company by hundreds and thousands and tens of thousands. Englishfolk forget quickly, but natives have long memories, and if a man hasdone good in his life it is remembered after his death. The weatheredmarble four-square tomb of Jan Chinn was hung about with wild flowersand nuts, packets of wax and honey, bottles of native spirits, andinfamous cigars, with buffalo horns and plumes of dried grass. At oneend was a rude clay image of a white man, in the old-fashioned top-hat, riding on a bloated tiger. 

Bukta salamed reverently as they approached. Chinn bared his head andbegan to pick out the blurred inscription. So far as he could read itran thus--word for word, and letter for letter:

 To the Memory of JOHN CHINN, Esq. Late Collector of. .. .. .. .. .. . . .. . Ithout Bloodshed or. .. Error of Authority Employ. Only. . Cans of Conciliat. .. And Confiden. Accomplished the. .. Tire Subjection. .. A Lawless and Predatory Peop. .. . .. . Taching them to. .. Ish Government by a Conquest over. .. . Minds The most perma. .. And rational Mode of Domini. . . .. Governor General and Counc. .. Engal have ordered thi. .. .. Erected . .. . Arted this Life Aug. 19, 184. . Ag. .. 

On the other side of the grave were ancient verses, also very worn. Asmuch as Chinn could decipher said:

 . .. . The savage band Forsook their Haunts and b. .. .. Is Command . .. . Mended. . Rais check a. .. St for spoil. And. S. Ing Hamlets prove his gene. .. . Toil. Humanit. .. Survey. .. .. . Ights restor. . A Nation. . Ield. . Subdued without a Sword. 

For some little time he leaned on the tomb thinking of this dead manof his own blood, and of the house in Devonshire; then, nodding to theplains: "Yes; it's a big work all of it even my little share. He musthave been worth knowing. .. . Bukta, where are my people?"

"Not here, Sahib. No man comes here except in full sun. They wait above. Let us climb and see. "

But Chinn, remembering the first law of Oriental diplomacy, in an evenvoice answered: "I have come this far only because the Satpura folk arefoolish, and dared not visit our lines. Now bid them wait on me here. Iam not a servant, but the master of Bhils. "

"I go--I go, " clucked the old man. Night was falling, and at any momentJan Chinn might whistle up his dreaded steed from the darkening scrub. 

Now for the first time in a long life Bukta disobeyed a lawful commandand deserted his leader; for he did not come back, but pressed to theflat table-top of the hill, and called softly. Men stirred all abouthim--little trembling men with bows and arrows who had watched the twosince noon. 

"Where is he?" whispered one. 

"At his own place. He bids you come, " said Bukta. 

"Now?"

"Now. "

"Rather let him loose the Clouded Tiger upon us. We do not go. "

"Nor I, though I bore him in my arms when he was a child in this hislife. Wait here till the day. "

"But surely he will be angry. "

"He will be very angry, for he has nothing to eat. But he has said to memany times that the Bhils are his children. By sunlight I believe this, but--by moonlight I am not so sure. What folly have ye Satpura pigscompassed that ye should need him at all?"

"One came to us in the name of the Government with little ghost-knivesand a magic calf, meaning to turn us into cattle by the cutting off ofour arms. We were greatly afraid, but we did not kill the man. He ishere, bound--a black man; and we think he comes from the west. He saidit was an order to cut us all with knives--especially the women and thechildren. We did not hear that it was an order, so we were afraid, andkept to our hills. Some of our men have taken ponies and bullocks fromthe plains, and others pots and cloths and ear-rings. "

"Are any slain?"

"By our men? Not yet. But the young men are blown to and fro by manyrumours like flames upon a hill. I sent runners asking for Jan Chinnlest worse should come to us. It was this fear that he foretold by thesign of the Clouded Tiger. "

"He says it is otherwise, " said Bukta; and he repeated, withamplifications, all that young Chinn had told him at the conference ofthe wicker chair. 

"Think you, " said the questioner, at last, "that the Government will layhands on us?"

"Not I, " Bukta rejoined. "Jan Chinn will give an order, and ye willobey. The rest is between the Government and Jan Chinn. I myself knowsomething of the ghost-knives and the scratching. It is a charm againstthe Smallpox. But how it is done I cannot tell. Nor need that concernyou. "

"If he stands by us and before the anger of the Government we will moststrictly obey Jan Chinn, except--except we do not go down to that placeto-night. "

They could hear young Chinn below them shouting for Bukta; but theycowered and sat still, expecting the Clouded Tiger. The tomb had beenholy ground for nearly half a century. If Jan Chinn chose to sleepthere, who had better right? But they would not come within eyeshot ofthe place till broad day. 

At first Chinn was exceedingly angry, till it occurred to him that Buktamost probably had a reason (which, indeed, he had), and his own dignitymight suffer if he yelled without answer. He propped himself against thefoot of the grave, and, alternately dozing and smoking, came through thewarm night proud that he was a lawful, legitimate, fever-proof Chinn. 

He prepared his plan of action much as his grandfather would have done;and when Bukta appeared in the morning with a most liberal supply offood, said nothing of the overnight desertion. Bukta would have beenrelieved by an outburst of human anger; but Chinn finished his victualleisurely, and a cheroot, ere he made any sign. 

"They are very much afraid, " said Bukta, who was not too bold himself. "It remains only to give orders. They said they will obey if thou wiltonly stand between them and the Government. "

"That I know, " said Chinn, strolling slowly to the table-land. A few ofthe elder men stood in an irregular semicircle in an open glade; but theruck of people--women and children were hidden in the thicket. They hadno desire to face the first anger of Jan Chinn the First. 

Seating himself on a fragment of split rock, he smoked his cheroot tothe butt, hearing men breathe hard all about him. Then he cried, sosuddenly that they jumped:

"Bring the man that was bound!"

A scuffle and a cry were followed by the appearance of a Hindoovaccinator, quaking with fear, bound hand and foot, as the Bhils of oldwere accustomed to bind their human sacrifices. He was pushed cautiouslybefore the presence; but young Chinn did not look at him. 

"I said--the man that was bound. Is it a jest to bring me one tied likea buffalo? Since when could the Bhil bind folk at his pleasure? Cut!"

Half a dozen hasty knives cut away the thongs, and the man crawledto Chinn, who pocketed his case of lancets and tubes of lymph. Then, sweeping the semicircle with one comprehensive forefinger, and in thevoice of compliment, he said, clearly and distinctly: "Pigs!

"Ai!" whispered Bukta. "Now he speaks. Woe to foolish people!"

"I have come on foot from my house" (the assembly shuddered) "to makeclear a matter which any other Satpura Bhil would have seen with botheyes from a distance. Ye know the Smallpox who pits and scars yourchildren so that they look like wasp-combs. It is an order of theGovernment that whoso is scratched on the arm with these little kniveswhich I hold up is charmed against her. All Sahibs are thus charmed, andvery many Hindoos. This is the mark of the charm. Look!"

He rolled back his sleeve to the armpit and showed the white scars ofthe vaccination-mark on his white skin. "Come, all, and look. "

A few daring spirits came up, and nodded their heads wisely. There wascertainly a mark, and they knew well what other dread marks were hiddenby the shirt. Merciful was Jan Chinn, that then and there proclaimed hisgodhead!

"Now all these things the man whom ye bound told you. "

"I did--a hundred times; but they answered with blows, " groaned theoperator, chafing his wrists and ankles. 

"But, being pigs, ye did not believe; and so came I here to save you, first from Smallpox, next from a great folly of fear, and lastly, it maybe, from the rope and the jail. It is no gain to me; it is no pleasureto me: but for the sake of that one who is yonder, who made the Bhil aman"--he pointed down the hill--"I, who am of his blood, the son of hisson, come to turn your people. And I speak the truth, as did Jan Chinn. "

The crowd murmured reverently, and men stole out of the thicket by twosand threes to join it. There was no anger in their god's face. 

"These are my orders. (Heaven send they'll take 'em, but I seem tohave impressed 'em so far!) I myself will stay among you while this manscratches your arms with the knives, after the order of the Government. In three, or it may be five or seven, days, your arms will swell anditch and burn. That is the power of Smallpox fighting in your base bloodagainst the orders of the Government I will therefore stay among youtill I see that Smallpox is conquered, and I will not go away till themen and the women and the little children show me upon their arms suchmarks as I have even now showed you. I bring with me two very goodguns, and a man whose name is known among beasts and men. We will hunttogether, I and he and your young men, and the others shall eat and liestill. This is my order. "

There was a long pause while victory hung in the balance. A white-hairedold sinner, standing on one uneasy leg, piped up:

"There are ponies and some few bullocks and other things for which weneed a kowl [protection]. They were not taken in the way of trade. "

The battle was won, and John Chinn drew a breath of relief. The youngBhils had been raiding, but if taken swiftly all could be put straight. 

"I will write a kowl so soon as the ponies, the bullocks, and the otherthings are counted before me and sent back whence they came. But firstwe will put the Government mark on such as have not been visited bySmallpox. " In an undertone, to the vaccinator: "If you show you areafraid you'll never see Poona again, my friend. "

"There is not sufficient ample supply of vaccination for all thispopulation, " said the man. "They destroyed the offeecial calf. "

"They won't know the difference. Scrape 'em and give me a couple oflancets; I'll attend to the elders. "

The aged diplomat who had demanded protection was the first victim. Hefell to Chinn's hand and dared not cry out. As soon as he was freed hedragged up a companion, and held him fast, and the crisis became, asit were, a child's sport; for the vaccinated chased the unvaccinatedto treatment, vowing that all the tribe must suffer equally. The womenshrieked, and the children ran howling; but Chinn laughed, and waved thepink-tipped lancet. 

"It is an honour, " he cried. "Tell them, Bukta, how great an honour itis that I myself mark them. Nay, I cannot mark every one--the Hindoomust also do his work--but I will touch all marks that he makes, sothere will be an equal virtue in them. Thus do the Rajputs stick pigs. Ho, brother with one eye! Catch that girl and bring her to me. Sheneed not run away yet, for she is not married, and I do not seek herin marriage. She will not come? Then she shall be shamed by her littlebrother, a fat boy, a bold boy. He puts out his arm like a soldier. Look! He does not flinch at the blood. Some day he shall be in myregiment. And now, mother of many, we will lightly touch thee, forSmallpox has been before us here. It is a true thing, indeed, that thischarm breaks the power of Mata. There will be no more pitted faces amongthe Satpuras, and so ye can ask many cows for each maid to be wed. "

And so on and so on--quick-poured showman's patter, sauced in the Bhilhunting-proverbs and tales of their own brand of coarse humour till thelancets were blunted and both operators worn out. 

But, nature being the same the world over, the unvaccinated grew jealousof their marked comrades, and came near to blows about it. Then Chinndeclared himself a court of justice, no longer a medical board, and madeformal inquiry into the late robberies. 

"We are the thieves of Mahadeo, " said the Bhils, simply. "It is ourfate, and we were frightened. When we are frightened we always steal. "

Simply and directly as children, they gave in the tale of the plunder, all but two bullocks and some spirits that had gone amissing (theseChinn promised to make good out of his own pocket), and ten ringleaderswere despatched to the lowlands with a wonderful document, writtenon the leaf of a note-book, and addressed to an Assistant DistrictSuperintendent of Police. There was warm calamity in that note, as JanChinn warned them, but anything was better than loss of liberty. 

Armed with this protection, the repentant raiders went down-hill. Theyhad no desire whatever to meet Mr. Dundas Fawne of the Police, agedtwenty-two, and of a cheerful countenance, nor did they wish to revisitthe scene of their robberies. Steering a middle course, they ran intothe camp of the one Government chaplain allowed to the various irregularcorps through a district of some fifteen thousand square miles, andstood before him in a cloud of dust. He was by way of being a priest, they knew, and, what was more to the point, a good sportsman who paidhis beaters generously. 

When he read Chinn's note he laughed, which they deemed a lucky omen, till he called up policemen, who tethered the ponies and the bullocksby the piled house-gear, and laid stern hands upon three of that smilingband of the thieves of Mahadeo. The chaplain himself addressed themmagisterially with a riding-whip. That was painful, but Jan Chinnhad prophesied it. They submitted, but would not give up the writtenprotection, fearing the jail. On their way back they met Mr. D. Fawne, who had heard about the robberies, and was not pleased. 

"Certainly, " said the eldest of the gang, when the second interview wasat an end, "certainly Jan Chinn's protection has saved us our liberty, but it is as though there were many beatings in one small piece ofpaper. Put it away. "

One climbed into a tree, and stuck the letter into a cleft forty feetfrom the ground, where it could do no harm. Warmed, sore, but happy, theten returned to Jan Chinn next day, where he sat among uneasy Bhils, alllooking at their right arms, and all bound under terror of their god'sdisfavour not to scratch. 

"It was a good kowl, " said the leader. "First the chaplain, who laughed, took away our plunder, and beat three of us, as was promised. Next, wemeet Fawne Sahib, who frowned, and asked for the plunder. We spoke thetruth, and so he beat us all, one after another, and called us chosennames. He then gave us these two bundles"--they set down a bottle ofwhisky and a box of cheroots--"and we came away. The kowl is left in atree, because its virtue is that so soon as we show it to a Sahib we arebeaten. "

"But for that kowl" said Jan Chinn, sternly, "ye would all have beenmarching to jail with a policeman on either side. Ye come now to serveas beaters for me. These people are unhappy, and we will go hunting tillthey are well. To-night we will make a feast. "

It is written in the chronicles of the Satpura Bhils, together with manyother matters not fit for print, that through five days, after the daythat he had put his mark upon them, Jan Chinn the First hunted for hispeople; and on the five nights of those days the tribe was gloriouslyand entirely drunk. Jan Chinn bought country spirits of an awfulstrength, and slew wild pig and deer beyond counting, so that if anyfell sick they might have two good reasons. 

Between head--and stomach-aches they found no time to think of theirarms, but followed Jan Chinn obediently through the jungles, and witheach day's returning confidence men, women, and children stole away totheir villages as the little army passed by. They carried news that itwas good and right to be scratched with ghost-knives; that Jan Chinnwas indeed reincarnated as a god of free food and drink, and that of allnations the Satpura Bhils stood first in his favour, if they would onlyrefrain from scratching. Henceforward that kindly demi-god would beconnected in their minds with great gorgings and the vaccine and lancetsof a paternal Government. 

"And to-morrow I go back to my home, " said Jan Chinn to his faithfulfew, whom neither spirits, overeating, nor swollen glands could conquer. It is hard for children and savages to behave reverently at all times tothe idols of their make-belief; and they had frolicked excessively withJan Chinn. But the reference to his home cast a gloom on the people. 

"And the Sahib will not come again?" said he who had been vaccinatedfirst. 

"That is to be seen, " answered Chinn, warily. 

"Nay, but come as a white man--come as a young man whom we know andlove; for, as thou alone knowest, we are a weak people. If we again sawthy--thy horse--" They were picking up their courage. 

"I have no horse. I came on foot with Bukta, yonder. What is this?"

"Thou knowest--the thing that thou hast chosen for a night-horse. " Thelittle men squirmed in fear and awe. 

"Night-horses? Bukta, what is this last tale of children?"

Bukta had been a silent leader in Chinn's presence since the night ofhis desertion, and was grateful for a chance-flung question. 

"They know, Sahib, " he whispered. "It is the Clouded Tiger. That thatcomes from the place where thou didst once sleep. It is thy horse--as ithas been these three generations. "

"My horse! That was a dream of the Bhils. "

"It is no dream. Do dreams leave the tracks of broad pugs on earth? Whymake two faces before thy people? They know of the night-ridings, andthey--and they--"

"Are afraid, and would have them cease. "

Bukta nodded. "If thou hast no further need of him. He is thy horse. "

"The thing leaves a trail, then?" said Chinn. 

"We have seen it. It is like a village road under the tomb. "

"Can ye find and follow it for me?"

"By daylight--if one comes with us, and, above all, stands near by. "

"I will stand close, and we will see to it that Jan Chinn does not rideany more. "

The Bhils shouted the last words again and again. 

From Chinn's point of view the stalk was nothing more than an ordinaryone--down-hill, through split and crannied rocks, unsafe, perhaps, if aman did not keep his wits by him, but no worse than twenty others he hadundertaken. Yet his men--they refused absolutely to beat, and would onlytrail--dripped sweat at every move. They showed the marks of enormouspugs that ran, always down-hill, to a few hundred feet below Jan Chinn'stomb, and disappeared in a narrow-mouthed cave. It was an insolentlyopen road, a domestic highway, beaten without thought of concealment. 

"The beggar might be paying rent and taxes, " Chinn muttered ere he askedwhether his friend's taste ran to cattle or man. 

"Cattle, " was the answer. "Two heifers a week. We drive them for himat the foot of the hill. It is his custom. If we did not, he might seekus. "

"Blackmail and piracy, " said Chinn. "I can't say I fancy going into thecave after him. What's to be done?"

The Bhils fell back as Chinn lodged himself behind a rock with hisrifle ready. Tigers, he knew, were shy beasts, but one who had been longcattle-fed in this sumptuous style might prove overbold. 

"He speaks!" some one whispered from the rear. "He knows, too. "

"Well, of all the infernal cheek!" said Chinn. There was an angry growlfrom the cave--a direct challenge. 

"Come out, then, " Chinn shouted. "Come out of that. Let's have a look atyou. " The brute knew well enough that there was some connection betweenbrown nude Bhils and his weekly allowance; but the white helmet in thesunlight annoyed him, and he did not approve of the voice that broke hisrest. Lazily as a gorged snake, he dragged himself out of the cave, andstood yawning and blinking at the entrance. The sunlight fell upon hisflat right side, and Chinn wondered. Never had he seen a tiger markedafter this fashion. Except for his head, which was staringly barred, hewas dappled--not striped, but dappled like a child's rocking-horse inrich shades of smoky black on red gold. That portion of his belly andthroat which should have been white was orange, and his tail and pawswere black. 

He looked leisurely for some ten seconds, and then deliberately loweredhis head, his chin dropped and drawn in, staring intently at the man. The effect of this was to throw forward the round arch of his skull, with two broad bands across it, while below the bands glared theunwinking eyes; so that, head on, as he stood, he showed somethinglike a diabolically scowling pantomime-mask. It was a piece of naturalmesmerism that he had practised many times on his quarry, and thoughChinn was by no means a terrified heifer, he stood for a while, heldby the extraordinary oddity of the attack. The head--the body seemed tohave been packed away behind it--the ferocious, skull-like head, creptnearer to the switching of an angry tail-tip in the grass. Left andright the Bhils had scattered to let John Chinn subdue his own horse. 

"My word!" he thought. "He's trying to frighten me!" and fired betweenthe saucer-like eyes, leaping aside upon the shot. 

A big coughing mass, reeking of carrion, bounded past him up the hill, and he followed discreetly. The tiger made no attempt to turn into thejungle; he was hunting for sight and breath--nose up, mouth open, thetremendous fore-legs scattering the gravel in spurts. 

"Scuppered!" said John Chinn, watching the flight. "Now if he was apartridge he'd tower. Lungs must be full of blood. "

The brute had jerked himself over a boulder and fallen out of sightthe other side. John Chinn looked over with a ready barrel. But thered trail led straight as an arrow even to his grandfather's tomb, andthere, among the smashed spirit-bottles and the fragments of the mudimage, the life left, with a flurry and a grunt. 

"If my worthy ancestor could see that, " said John Chinn, "he'd have beenproud of me. Eyes, lower jaw, and lungs. A very nice shot. " He whistledfor Bukta as he drew the tape over the stiffening bulk. 

"Ten--six--eight--by Jove! It's nearly eleven--call it eleven. Fore-arm, twenty-four--five--seven and a half. A short tail, too: three feet one. But what a skin! Oh, Bukta! Bukta! The men with the knives swiftly. "

"Is he beyond question dead?" said an awe-stricken voice behind a rock. 

"That was not the way I killed my first tiger, " said Chinn. "I did notthink that Bukta would run. I had no second gun. "

"It--it is the Clouded Tiger, " said Bukta, un-heeding the taunt. 

"He is dead. "

Whether all the Bhils, vaccinated and unvaccinated, of the Satpuras hadlain by to see the kill, Chinn could not say; but the whole hill's flankrustled with little men, shouting, singing, and stamping. And yet, tillhe had made the first cut in the splendid skin, not a man would take aknife; and, when the shadows fell, they ran from the red-stained tomb, and no persuasion would bring them back till dawn. So Chinn spenta second night in the open, guarding the carcass from jackals, andthinking about his ancestor. 

He returned to the lowlands to the triumphal chant of an escorting armythree hundred strong, the Mahratta vaccinator close at his elbow, andthe rudely dried skin a trophy before him. When that army suddenly andnoiselessly disappeared, as quail in high corn, he argued he was nearcivilisation, and a turn in the road brought him upon the camp of a wingof his own corps. He left the skin on a cart-tail for the world to see, and sought the Colonel. 

"They're perfectly right, " he explained earnestly. "There isn't an ounceof vice in 'em. They were only frightened. I've vaccinated the wholeboiling, and they like it awfully. What are--what are we doing here, sir?"

"That's what I'm trying to find out, " said the Colonel. "I don't knowyet whether we're a piece of a brigade or a police force. However, Ithink we'll call ourselves a police force. How did you manage to get aBhil vaccinated?"

"Well, sir, " said Chinn, "I've been thinking it over, and, as far as Ican make out, I've got a sort of hereditary influence over 'em. "

"So I know, or I wouldn't have sent you; but what, exactly?"

"It's rather rummy. It seems, from what I can make out, that I'm myown grandfather reincarnated, and I've been disturbing the peace of thecountry by riding a pad-tiger of nights. If I hadn't done that, I don'tthink they'd have objected to the vaccination; but the two together weremore than they could stand. And so, sir, I've vaccinated 'em, and shotmy tiger-horse as a sort o' proof of good faith. You never saw such askin in your life. "

The Colonel tugged his moustache thought-fully. "Now, how the deuce, "said he, "am I to include that in my report?"

Indeed, the official version of the Bhils' anti-vaccination stampedesaid nothing about Lieutenant John Chinn, his godship. But Bukta knew, and the corps knew, and every Bhil in the Satpura hills knew. 

And now Bukta is zealous that John Chinn shall swiftly be wedded andimpart his powers to a son; for if the Chinn succession fails, andthe little Bhils are left to their own imaginings, there will be freshtrouble in the Satpuras. 

THE DEVIL AND THE DEEP SEA

All supplies very bad and dear, and there are no facilities for even thesmallest repairs. --Sailing Directions. 

Her nationality was British, but you will not find her house-flag inthe list of our mercantile marine. She was a nine-hundred-ton, iron, schooner-rigged, screw cargo-boat, differing externally in no way fromany other tramp of the sea. But it is with steamers as it is with men. There are those who will for a consideration sail extremely close to thewind; and, in the present state of a fallen world, such people and suchsteamers have their use. From the hour that the Aglaia first enteredthe Clyde--new, shiny, and innocent, with a quart of cheap champagnetrickling down her cut-water--Fate and her owner, who was also hercaptain, decreed that she should deal with embarrassed crowned heads, fleeing Presidents, financiers of over-extended ability, women to whomchange of air was imperative, and the lesser law-breaking Powers. Hercareer led her sometimes into the Admiralty Courts, where the swornstatements of her skipper filled his brethren with envy. The marinercannot tell or act a lie in the face of the sea, or mis-lead a tempest;but, as lawyers have discovered, he makes up for chances withheld whenhe returns to shore, an affidavit in either hand. 

The Aglaia figured with distinction in the great Mackinaw salvage-case. It was her first slip from virtue, and she learned how to change hername, but not her heart, and to run across the sea. As the Guiding Lightshe was very badly wanted in a South American port for the little matterof entering harbour at full speed, colliding with a coal-hulk and theState's only man-of-war, just as that man-of-war was going to coal. Sheput to sea without explanations, though three forts fired at her forhalf an hour. As the Julia M'Gregor she had been concerned in picking upfrom a raft certain gentlemen who should have stayed in Noumea, butwho preferred making themselves vastly unpleasant to authority in quiteanother quarter of the world; and as the Shah-in-Shah she had beenovertaken on the high seas, indecently full of munitions of war, by thecruiser of an agitated Power at issue with its neighbour. That time shewas very nearly sunk, and her riddled hull gave eminent lawyers of twocountries great profit. After a season she reappeared as the MartinHunt painted a dull slate-colour, with pure saffron funnel, and boats ofrobin's-egg blue, engaging in the Odessa trade till she was invited (andthe invitation could not well be disregarded) to keep away from BlackSea ports altogether. 

She had ridden through many waves of depression. Freights might dropout of sight, Seamen's Unions throw spanners and nuts at certificatedmasters, or stevedores combine till cargo perished on the dock-head;but the boat of many names came and went, busy, alert, and inconspicuousalways. Her skipper made no complaint of hard times, and port officersobserved that her crew signed and signed again with the regularity ofAtlantic liner boatswains. Her name she changed as occasion called;her well-paid crew never; and a large percentage of the profits ofher voyages was spent with an open hand on her engine-room. She nevertroubled the underwriters, and very seldom stopped to talk with asignal-station, for her business was urgent and private. 

But an end came to her tradings, and she perished in this manner. Deeppeace brooded over Europe, Asia, Africa, America, Australasia, andPolynesia. The Powers dealt together more or less honestly; banks paidtheir depositors to the hour; diamonds of price came safely to thehands of their owners; Republics rested content with their Dictators;diplomats found no one whose presence in the least incommoded them;monarchs lived openly with their lawfully wedded wives. It was as thoughthe whole earth had put on its best Sunday bib and tucker; and businesswas very bad for the Martin Hunt. The great, virtuous calm engulfed her, slate sides, yellow funnel, and all, but cast up in another hemispherethe steam whaler Haliotis, black and rusty, with a manure-colouredfunnel, a litter of dingy white boats, and an enormous stove, orfurnace, for boiling blubber on her forward well-deck. There could be nodoubt that her trip was successful, for she lay at several ports not toowell known, and the smoke of her trying-out insulted the beaches. 

Anon she departed, at the speed of the average London four-wheeler, andentered a semi-inland sea, warm, still, and blue, which is, perhaps, the most strictly preserved water in the world. There she stayed for acertain time, and the great stars of those mild skies beheld her playingpuss-in-the-corner among islands where whales are never found. Allthat while she smelt abominably, and the smell, though fishy, was notwhalesome. One evening calamity descended upon her from the islandof Pygang-Watai, and she fled, while her crew jeered at a fatblack-and-brown gunboat puffing far behind. They knew to the lastrevolution the capacity of every boat, on those seas, that they wereanxious to avoid. A British ship with a good conscience does not, asa rule, flee from the man-of-war of a foreign Power, and it is alsoconsidered a breach of etiquette to stop and search British ships atsea. These things the skipper of the Haliotis did not pause to prove, but held on at an inspiriting eleven knots an hour till nightfall. Onething only he overlooked. 

The Power that kept an expensive steam-patrol moving up and down thosewaters (they had dodged the two regular ships of the station withan ease that bred contempt) had newly brought up a third and afourteen-knot boat with a clean bottom to help the work; and that waswhy the Haliotis, driving hard from the east to the west, found herselfat daylight in such a position that she could not help seeing anarrangement of four flags, a mile and a half behind, which read: "Heaveto, or take the consequences!"

She had her choice, and she took it. The end came when, presuming on herlighter draught, she tried to draw away northward over a friendly shoal. The shell that arrived by way of the Chief Engineer's cabin was somefive inches in diameter, with a practice, not a bursting, charge. It hadbeen intended to cross her bows, and that was why it knocked theframed portrait of the Chief Engineer's wife--and she was a very prettygirl--on to the floor, splintered his wash-hand stand, crossed thealleyway into the engine-room, and striking on a grating, droppeddirectly in front of the forward engine, where it burst, neatlyfracturing both the bolts that held the connecting-rod to the forwardcrank. 

What follows is worth consideration. The forward engine had no morework to do. Its released piston-rod, therefore, drove up fiercely, withnothing to check it, and started most of the nuts of the cylinder-cover. It came down again, the full weight of the steam behind it, and the footof the disconnected connecting-rod, useless as the leg of a man witha sprained ankle, flung out to the right and struck the starboard, orright-hand, cast-iron supporting-column of the forward engine, crackingit clean through about six inches above the base, and wedging theupper portion outwards three inches towards the ship's side. Therethe connecting-rod jammed. Meantime, the after-engine, being as yetunembarrassed, went on with its work, and in so doing brought round atits next revolution the crank of the forward engine, which smote thealready jammed connecting-rod, bending it and therewith the piston-rodcross-head--the big cross-piece that slides up and down so smoothly. 

The cross-head jammed sideways in the guides, and, in additionto putting further pressure on the already broken starboardsupporting-column, cracked the port, or left-hand, supporting-columnin two or three places. There being nothing more that could be made tomove, the engines brought up, all standing, with a hiccup that seemedto lift the Haliotis a foot out of the water; and the engine-roomstaff, opening every steam outlet that they could find in the confusion, arrived on deck somewhat scalded, but calm. There was a sound below ofthings happening--a rushing, clicking, purring, grunting, rattling noisethat did not last for more than a minute. It was the machinery adjustingitself, on the spur of the moment, to a hundred altered conditions. Mr. Wardrop, one foot on the upper grating, inclined his ear sideways, andgroaned. You cannot stop engines working at twelve knots an hour inthree seconds without disorganising them. The Haliotis slid forward ina cloud of steam, shrieking like a wounded horse. There was nothingmore to do. The five-inch shell with a reduced charge had settled thesituation. And when you are full, all three holds, of strictly preservedpearls; when you have cleaned out the Tanna Bank, the Sea-Horse Bank, and four other banks from one end to the other of the Amanala Sea--whenyou have ripped out the very heart of a rich Government monopoly so thatfive years will not repair your wrong-doings--you must smile and takewhat is in store. But the skipper reflected, as a launch put out fromthe man-of-war, that he had been bombarded on the high seas, with theBritish flag--several of them--picturesquely disposed above him, andtried to find comfort from the thought. 

"Where, " said the stolid naval lieutenant hoisting himself aboard, "whereare those dam' pearls?"

They were there beyond evasion. No affidavit could do away withthe fearful smell of decayed oysters, the diving-dresses, and theshell-littered hatches. They were there to the value of seventy thousandpounds, more or less; and every pound poached. 

The man-of-war was annoyed; for she had used up many tons of coal, shehad strained her tubes, and, worse than all, her officers and crew hadbeen hurried. Every one on the Haliotis was arrested and rearrestedseveral times, as each officer came aboard; then they were told by whatthey esteemed to be the equivalent of a midshipman that they were toconsider themselves prisoners, and finally were put under arrest. 

"It's not the least good, " said the skipper, suavely. "You'd much bettersend us a tow--"

"Be still--you are arrest!" was the reply. 

"Where the devil do you expect we are going to escape to? We'rehelpless. You've got to tow us into somewhere, and explain why you firedon us. Mr. Wardrop, we're helpless, aren't we?"

"Ruined from end to end, " said the man of machinery. "If she rolls, theforward cylinder will come down and go through her bottom. Both columnsare clean cut through. There's nothing to hold anything up. "

The council of war clanked off to see if Mr. Wardrop's words were true. He warned them that it was as much as a man's life was worth to enterthe engine-room, and they contented themselves with a distant inspectionthrough the thinning steam. The Haliotis lifted to the long, easy swell, and the starboard supporting-column ground a trifle, as a man gritshis teeth under the knife. The forward cylinder was depending on thatunknown force men call the pertinacity of materials, which now and thenbalances that other heartbreaking power, the perversity of inanimatethings. 

"You see!" said Mr. Wardrop, hurrying them away. "The engines aren'tworth their price as old iron. "

"We tow, " was the answer. "Afterwards we shall confiscate. "

The man-of-war was short-handed, and did not see the necessity forputting a prize-crew aboard the Haliotis. So she sent one sublieutenant, whom the skipper kept very drunk, for he did not wish to make the towtoo easy, and, moreover, he had an inconspicuous little rope hangingfrom the stem of his ship. 

Then they began to tow at an average speed of four knots an hour. TheHaliotis was very hard to move, and the gunnery-lieutenant, who hadfired the five-inch shell, had leisure to think upon consequences. Mr. Wardrop was the busy man. He borrowed all the crew to shore up thecylinders with spars and blocks from the bottom and sides of the ship. It was a day's risky work; but anything was better than drowning at theend of a tow-rope; and if the forward cylinder had fallen, it would havemade its way to the sea-bed, and taken the Haliotis after. 

"Where are we going to, and how long will they tow us?" he asked of theskipper. 

"God knows! and this prize-lieutenant's drunk. What do you think you cando?"

"There's just the bare chance, " Mr. Wardrop whispered, though no one waswithin hearing--"there's just the bare chance o' repairin' her, if a manknew how. They've twisted the very guts out of her, bringing her up withthat jerk; but I'm saying that, with time and patience, there's just thechance o' making steam yet. We could do it. "

The skipper's eye brightened. "Do you mean, " he began, "that she is anygood?"

"Oh, no, " said Mr. Wardrop. "She'll need three thousand pounds inrepairs, at the lowest, if she's to take the sea again, an' that apartfrom any injury to her structure. She's like a man fallen down fivepair o' stairs. We can't tell for months what has happened; but weknow she'll never be good again without a new inside. Ye should see thecondenser-tubes an' the steam connections to the donkey, for two thingsonly. I'm not afraid of them repairin' her. I'm afraid of them stealin'things. "

"They've fired on us. They'll have to explain that. "

"Our reputation's not good enough to ask for explanations. Let's takewhat we have and be thankful. Ye would not have consuls remembern'the Guidin' Light, an' the Shah-in-Shah, an' the Aglaia, at this mostalarmin' crisis. We've been no better than pirates these ten years. Under Providence we're no worse than thieves now. We've much to bethankful for--if we e'er get back to her. "

"Make it your own way, then, " said the skipper. "If there's the leastchance--"

"I'll leave none, " said Mr. Wardrop--"none that they'll dare to take. Keep her heavy on the tow, for we need time. "

The skipper never interfered with the affairs of the engine-room, andMr. Wardrop--an artist in his profession--turned to and composed a workterrible and forbidding. His background was the dark-grained sides ofthe engine-room; his material the metals of power and strength, helpedout with spars, baulks, and ropes. The man-of-war towed sullenly andviciously. The Haliotis behind her hummed like a hive before swarming. With extra and totally unneeded spars her crew blocked up the spaceround the forward engine till it resembled a statue in its scaffolding, and the butts of the shores interfered with every view that adispassionate eye might wish to take. And that the dispassionate mindmight be swiftly shaken out of its calm, the well-sunk bolts of theshores were wrapped round untidily with loose ends of ropes, giving astudied effect of most dangerous insecurity. Next, Mr. Wardrop took upa collection from the after-engine, which, as you will remember, hadnot been affected in the general wreck. The cylinder escape-valve heabolished with a flogging-hammer. It is difficult in far-off ports tocome by such valves, unless, like Mr. Wardrop, you keep duplicatesin store. At the same time men took off the nuts of two of the greatholding-down bolts that serve to keep the engines in place on theirsolid bed. An engine violently arrested in mid-career may easily jerkoff the nut of a holding-down bolt, and this accident looked verynatural. 

Passing along the tunnel, he removed several shaft coupling-boltsand--nuts, scattering other and ancient pieces of iron underfoot. Cylinder-bolts he cut off to the number of six from the after-enginecylinder, so that it might match its neighbour, and stuffed thebilge--and feed-pumps with cotton-waste. Then he made up a neatbundle of the various odds and ends that he had gathered from theengines--little things like nuts and valve-spindles, all carefullytallowed--and retired with them under the floor of the engine-room, where he sighed, being fat, as he passed from manhole to manhole of thedouble bottom, and in a fairly dry submarine compartment hid them. Anyengineer, particularly in an unfriendly port, has a right to keep hisspare stores where he chooses; and the foot of one of the cylindershores blocked all entrance into the regular store-room, even ifthat had not been already closed with steel wedges. In conclusion, hedisconnected the after-engine, laid piston and connecting-rod, carefullytallowed, where it would be most inconvenient to the casual visitor, took out three of the eight collars of the thrust-block, hid them whereonly he could find them again, filled the boilers by hand, wedged thesliding doors of the coal-bunkers, and rested from his labours. Theengine-room was a cemetery, and it did not need the contents of theash-lift through the skylight to make it any worse. 

He invited the skipper to look at the completed work. 

"Saw ye ever such a forsaken wreck as that?" said he, proudly. "It almostfrights me to go under those shores. Now, what d' you think they'll doto us?"

"Wait till we see, " said the skipper. "It'll be bad enough when itcomes. "

He was not wrong. The pleasant days of towing ended all too soon, thoughthe Haliotis trailed behind her a heavily weighted jib stayed outinto the shape of a pocket; and Mr. Wardrop was no longer an artist ofimagination, but one of seven-and-twenty prisoners in a prison full ofinsects. The man-of-war had towed them to the nearest port, not to theheadquarters of the colony, and when Mr. Wardrop saw the dismal littleharbour, with its ragged line of Chinese junks, its one crazy tug, andthe boat-building shed that, under the charge of a philosophical Malay, represented a dockyard, he sighed and shook his head. 

"I did well, " he said. "This is the habitation o' wreckers an' thieves. We're at the uttermost ends of the earth. Think you they'll ever know inEngland?"

"Doesn't look like it, " said the skipper. 

They were marched ashore with what they stood up in, under a generousescort, and were judged according to the customs of the country, which, though excellent, are a little out of date. There were the pearls; therewere the poachers; and there sat a small but hot Governor. He consultedfor a while, and then things began to move with speed, for he did notwish to keep a hungry crew at large on the beach, and the man-of-war hadgone up the coast. With a wave of his hand--a stroke of the pen was notnecessary--he consigned them to the black gang-tana, the back-country, and the hand of the Law removed them from his sight and the knowledgeof men. They were marched into the palms, and the back-country swallowedthem up--all the crew of the Haliotis. 

Deep peace continued to brood over Europe, Asia, Africa, America, Australasia, and Polynesia. 

 * * * * *

It was the firing that did it. They should have kept their counsel; butwhen a few thousand foreigners are bursting with joy over the fact thata ship under the British flag has been fired at on the high seas, newstravels quickly; and when it came out that the pearl-stealing crew hadnot been allowed access to their consul (there was no consul within afew hundred miles of that lonely port) even the friendliest of Powershas a right to ask questions. The great heart of the British publicwas beating furiously on account of the performance of a notoriousrace-horse, and had not a throb to waste on distant accidents; butsomewhere deep in the hull of the ship of State there is machinery whichmore or less accurately takes charge of foreign affairs. That machinerybegan to revolve, and who so shocked and surprised as the Power that hadcaptured the Haliotis? It explained that colonial governors and far-awaymen-of-war were difficult to control, and promised that it would mostcertainly make an example both of the Governor and the vessel. Asfor the crew reported to be pressed into military service in tropicalclimes, it would produce them as soon as possible, and it wouldapologise, if necessary. Now, no apologies were needed. When one nationapologises to another, millions of amateurs who have no earthly concernwith the difficulty hurl themselves into the strife and embarrass thetrained specialist. It was requested that the crew be found, if theywere still alive--they had been eight months beyond knowledge--and itwas promised that all would be forgotten. 

The little Governor of the little port was pleased with himself. Seven-and-twenty white men made a very compact force to throw away on awar that had neither beginning nor end--a jungle and stockade fightthat flickered and smouldered through the wet hot years in the hills ahundred miles away, and was the heritage of every wearied official. He had, he thought, deserved well of his country; and if only someone would buy the unhappy Haliotis, moored in the harbour below hisverandah, his cup would be full. He looked at the neatly silvered lampsthat he had taken from her cabins, and thought of much that might beturned to account. But his countrymen in that moist climate had nospirit. They would peep into the silent engine-room, and shake theirheads. Even the men-of-war would not tow her further up the coast, wherethe Governor believed that she could be repaired. She was a bad bargain;but her cabin carpets were undeniably beautiful, and his wife approvedof her mirrors. 

Three hours later cables were bursting round him like shells, for, though he knew it not, he was being offered as a sacrifice by thenether to the upper millstone, and his superiors had no regard forhis feelings. He had, said the cables, grossly exceeded his power, andfailed to report on events. He would, therefore--at this he cast himselfback in his hammock--produce the crew of the Haliotis. He would send forthem, and, if that failed, he would put his dignity on a pony and fetchthem himself. He had no conceivable right to make pearl-poachers servein any war. He would be held responsible. 

Next morning the cables wished to know whether he had found the crewof the Haliotis. They were to be found, freed and fed--he was to feedthem--till such time as they could be sent to the nearest English portin a man-of-war. If you abuse a man long enough in great words flashedover the sea-beds, things happen. The Governor sent inland swiftly forhis prisoners, who were also soldiers; and never was a militia regimentmore anxious to reduce its strength. No power short of death could makethese mad men wear the uniform of their service. They would not fight, except with their fellows, and it was for that reason the regimenthad not gone to war, but stayed in a stockade, reasoning with thenew troops. The autumn campaign had been a fiasco, but here were theEnglishmen. All the regiment marched back to guard them, and the hairyenemy, armed with blow-pipes, rejoiced in the forest. Five of the crewhad died, but there lined up on the Governor's verandah two-and-twentymen marked about the legs with the scars of leech-bites. A few of themwore fringes that had once been trousers; the others used loin-cloths ofgay patterns; and they existed beautifully but simply in the Governor'sverandah, and when he came out they sang at him. When you have lostseventy thousand pounds' worth of pearls, your pay, your ship, andall your clothes, and have lived in bondage for five months beyond thefaintest pretences of civilisation, you know what true independencemeans, for you become the happiest of created things--natural man. 

The Governor told the crew that they were evil, and they asked for food. When he saw how they ate, and when he remembered that none of the pearlpatrol-boats were expected for two months, he sighed. But the crewof the Haliotis lay down in the verandah, and said that they werepensioners of the Governor's bounty. A grey-bearded man, fat andbald-headed, his one garment a green-and-yellow loin-cloth, saw theHaliotis in the harbour, and bellowed for joy. The men crowded tothe verandah-rail, kicking aside the long cane chairs. They pointed, gesticulated, and argued freely, without shame. The militia regiment satdown in the Governor's garden. The Governor retired to his hammock--itwas as easy to be killed lying as standing--and his women squeaked fromthe shuttered rooms. 

"She sold?" said the grey-bearded man, pointing to the Haliotis. He wasMr. Wardrop. 

"No good, " said the Governor, shaking his head. "No one come buy. "

"He's taken my lamps, though, " said the skipper. He wore one leg of apair of trousers, and his eye wandered along the verandah. The Governorquailed. There were cuddy camp-stools and the skipper's writing-table inplain sight. 

"They've cleaned her out, o' course, " said Mr. Wardrop. "They would. We'll go aboard and take an inventory. See!" He waved his hands over theharbour. "We--live--there--now. Sorry?"

The Governor smiled a smile of relief. 

"He's glad of that, " said one of the crew, reflectively. "I shouldn'twonder. "

They flocked down to the harbour-front, the militia regiment clatteringbehind, and embarked themselves in what they found--it happened to bethe Governor's boat. Then they disappeared over the bulwarks of theHaliotis, and the Governor prayed that they might find occupationinside. 

Mr. Wardrop's first bound took him to the engine-room; and when theothers were patting the well-remembered decks, they heard him giving Godthanks that things were as he had left them. The wrecked engines stoodover his head untouched; no inexpert hand had meddled with his shores;the steel wedges of the store-room were rusted home; and, best of all, the hundred and sixty tons of good Australian coal in the bunkers hadnot diminished. 

"I don't understand it, " said Mr. Wardrop. "Any Malay knows the use o'copper. They ought to have cut away the pipes. And with Chinese junkscoming here, too. It's a special interposition o' Providence. "

"You think so, " said the skipper, from above. "There's only been onethief here, and he's cleaned her out of all my things, anyhow. "

Here the skipper spoke less than the truth, for under the planking ofhis cabin, only to be reached by a chisel, lay a little money whichnever drew any interest--his sheet-anchor to windward. It was allin clean sovereigns that pass current the world over, and might haveamounted to more than a hundred pounds. 

"He's left me alone. Let's thank God, " repeated Mr. Wardrop. 

"He's taken everything else; look!"

The Haliotis, except as to her engine-room, had been systematically andscientifically gutted from one end to the other, and there was strongevidence that an unclean guard had camped in the skipper's cabin toregulate that plunder. She lacked glass, plate, crockery, cutlery, mattresses, cuddy carpets and chairs, all boats, and her copperventilators. These things had been removed, with her sails and as muchof the wire rigging as would not imperil the safety of the masts. 

"He must have sold those, " said the skipper. "The other things are inhis house, I suppose. "

Every fitting that could be pried or screwed out was gone. Port, starboard, and masthead lights; teak gratings; sliding sashes of thedeckhouse; the captain's chest of drawers, with charts and chart-table;photographs, brackets, and looking-glasses; cabin doors; rubber cuddymats; hatch-irons; half the funnel-stays; cork fenders; carpenter'sgrindstone and tool-chest; holystones, swabs, squeegees; all cabin andpantry lamps; galley-fittings en bloc; flags and flag-locker; clocks, chronometers; the forward compass and the ship's bell and belfry, wereamong the missing. 

There were great scarred marks on the deck-planking over which thecargo-derricks had been hauled. One must have fallen by the way, for thebulwark-rails were smashed and bent and the side-plates bruised. 

"It's the Governor, " said the skipper "He's been selling her on theinstalment plan. "

"Let's go up with spanners and shovels, and kill 'em all, " shouted thecrew. "Let's drown him, and keep the woman!"

"Then we'll be shot by that black-and-tan regiment--our regiment. What'sthe trouble ashore? They've camped our regiment on the beach. "

"We're cut off; that's all. Go and see what they want, " said Mr. Wardrop. "You've the trousers. "

In his simple way the Governor was a strategist. He did not desire thatthe crew of the Haliotis should come ashore again, either singly or indetachments, and he proposed to turn their steamer into a convict-hulk. They would wait--he explained this from the quay to the skipper in thebarge--and they would continue to wait till the man-of-war came along, exactly where they were. If one of them set foot ashore, the entireregiment would open fire, and he would not scruple to use the two cannonof the town. Meantime food would be sent daily in a boat under an armedescort. The skipper, bare to the waist, and rowing, could only grind histeeth; and the Governor improved the occasion, and revenged himself forthe bitter words in the cables, by saying what he thought of the moralsand manners of the crew. The barge returned to the Haliotis in silence, and the skipper climbed aboard, white on the cheek-bones and blue aboutthe nostrils. 

"I knew it, " said Mr. Wardrop; "and they won't give us good food, either. We shall have bananas morning, noon, and night, an' a man can'twork on fruit. We know that. "

Then the skipper cursed Mr. Wardrop for importing frivolous side-issuesinto the conversation; and the crew cursed one another, and theHaliotis, the voyage, and all that they knew or could bring to mind. They sat down in silence on the empty decks, and their eyes burned intheir heads. The green harbour water chuckled at them overside. Theylooked at the palm-fringed hills inland, at the white houses above theharbour road, at the single tier of native craft by the quay, at thestolid soldiery sitting round the two cannon, and, last of all, atthe blue bar of the horizon. Mr. Wardrop was buried in thought, andscratched imaginary lines with his untrimmed finger-nails on theplanking. 

"I make no promise, " he said, at last, "for I can't say what may or maynot have happened to them. But here's the ship, and here's us. "

There was a little scornful laughter at this, and Mr. Wardrop knittedhis brows. He recalled that in the days when he wore trousers he hadbeen Chief Engineer of the Haliotis. 

"Harland, Mackesy, Noble, Hay, Naughton, Fink, O'Hara, Trumbull. "

"Here, sir!" The instinct of obedience waked to answer the roll-call ofthe engine-room. 

"Below!"

They rose and went. 

"Captain, I'll trouble you for the rest of the men as I want them. We'llget my stores out, and clear away the shores we don't need, andthen we'll patch her up. My men will remember that they're in theHaliotis, --under me. "

He went into the engine-room, and the others stared. They were used tothe accidents of the sea, but this was beyond their experience. Nonewho had seen the engine-room believed that anything short of new enginesfrom end to end could stir the Haliotis from her moorings. 

The engine-room stores were unearthed, and Mr. Wardrop's face, red withthe filth of the bilges and the exertion of travelling on his stomach, lit with joy. The spare gear of the Haliotis had been unusuallycomplete, and two-and-twenty men, armed with screw-jacks, differentialblocks, tackle, vices, and a forge or so, can look Kismet between theeyes without winking. The crew were ordered to replace the holding-downand shaft-bearing bolts, and return the collars of the thrust-block. When they had finished, Mr. Wardrop delivered a lecture on repairingcompound engines without the aid of the shops, and the men sat about onthe cold machinery. The cross-head jammed in the guides leered at themdrunkenly, but offered no help. They ran their fingers hopelessly intothe cracks of the starboard supporting-column, and picked at the endsof the ropes round the shores, while Mr. Wardrop's voice rose and fellechoing, till the quick tropic night closed down over the engine-roomskylight. 

Next morning the work of reconstruction began. It has been explainedthat the foot of the connecting-rod was forced against the foot of thestarboard supporting-column, which it had cracked through and drivenoutward towards the ship's skin. To all appearance the job was more thanhopeless, for rod and column seemed to have been welded into one. Butherein Providence smiled on them for one moment to hearten themthrough the weary weeks ahead. The second engineer--more reckless thanresourceful--struck at random with a cold chisel into the cast-ironof the column, and a greasy, grey flake of metal flew from under theimprisoned foot of the connecting-rod, while the rod itself fell awayslowly, and brought up with a thunderous clang somewhere in the darkof the crank-pit. The guides-plates above were still jammed fast in theguides, but the first blow had been struck. They spent the rest of theday grooming the donkey-engine, which stood immediately forward of theengine-room hatch. Its tarpaulin, of course, had been stolen, and eightwarm months had not improved the working parts. Further, the last dyinghiccup of the Haliotis seemed--or it might have been the Malay from theboat-house--to have lifted the thing bodily on its bolts, and set itdown inaccurately as regarded its steam connections. 

"If we only had one single cargo-derrick!" Mr. Wardrop sighed. "We cantake the cylinder-cover off by hand, if we sweat; but to get the rodout o' the piston's not possible unless we use steam. Well, there'll besteam the morn, if there's nothing else. She'll fizzle!"

Next morning men from the shore saw the Haliotis through a cloud, for itwas as though the deck smoked. Her crew were chasing steam through theshaken and leaky pipes to its work in the forward donkey-engine; andwhere oakum failed to plug a crack, they stripped off their loin-clothsfor lapping, and swore, half-boiled and mother-naked. The donkey-engineworked--at a price--the price of constant attention and furiousstoking--worked long enough to allow a wire-rope (it was made up of afunnel and a foremast-stay) to be led into the engine-room and made faston the cylinder-cover of the forward engine. That rose easily enough, and was hauled through the skylight and on to the deck, many handsassisting the doubtful steam. Then came the tug of war, for it wasnecessary to get to the piston and the jammed piston-rod. They removedtwo of the piston junk-ring studs, screwed in two strong iron eye-boltsby way of handles, doubled the wire-rope, and set half a dozen men tosmite with an extemporised battering-ram at the end of the piston-rod, where it peered through the piston, while the donkey-engine hauledupwards on the piston itself. After four hours of this furious work, thepiston-rod suddenly slipped, and the piston rose with a jerk, knockingone or two men over into the engine-room. But when Mr. Wardrop declaredthat the piston had not split, they cheered, and thought nothing oftheir wounds; and the donkey-engine was hastily stopped; its boiler wasnothing to tamper with. 

And day by day their supplies reached them by boat. The skipper humbledhimself once more before the Governor, and as a concession had leave toget drinking-water from the Malay boat-builder on the quay. It was notgood drinking-water, but the Malay was anxious to supply anything in hispower, if he were paid for it. 

Now when the jaws of the forward engine stood, as it were, stripped andempty, they began to wedge up the shores of the cylinder itself. Thatwork alone filled the better part of three days--warm and sticky days, when the hands slipped and sweat ran into the eyes. When the lastwedge was hammered home there was no longer an ounce of weight on thesupporting-columns; and Mr. Wardrop rummaged the ship for boiler-platethree-quarters of an inch thick, where he could find it. There was notmuch available, but what there was was more than beaten gold to him. Inone desperate forenoon the entire crew, naked and lean, haled back, more or less into place, the starboard supporting-column, which, as youremember, was cracked clean through. Mr. Wardrop found them asleep wherethey had finished the work, and gave them a day's rest, smiling uponthem as a father while he drew chalk-marks about the cracks. They woketo new and more trying labour; for over each one of those cracks a plateof three-quarter-inch boiler-iron was to be worked hot, the rivet-holesbeing drilled by hand. All that time they were fed on fruits, chieflybananas, with some sago. 

Those were the days when men swooned over the ratchet-drill and thehand-forge, and where they fell they had leave to lie unless theirbodies were in the way of their fellows' feet. And so, patch upon patch, and a patch over all, the starboard supporting-column was clouted; butwhen they thought all was secure, Mr. Wardrop decreed that the noblepatchwork would never support working engines; at the best, it couldonly hold the guide-bars approximately true, he deadweight of thecylinders must be borne by vertical struts; and, therefore, a gang wouldrepair to the bows, and take out, with files, the big bow-anchor davits, each of which was some three inches in diameter. They threw hot coals atWardrop, and threatened to kill him, those who did not weep (they wereready to weep on the least provocation); but he hit them with iron barsheated at the end, and they limped forward, and the davits came withthem when they returned. They slept sixteen hours on the strength of it, and in three days two struts were in place, bolted from the foot of thestarboard supporting-column to the under side of the cylinder. Thereremained now the port, or condenser-column, which, though not so badlycracked as its fellow, had also been strengthened in four placeswith boiler-plate patches, but needed struts. They took away the mainstanchions of the bridge for that work, and, crazy with toil, didnot see till all was in place that the rounded bars of iron must beflattened from top to bottom to allow the air-pump levers to clear them. It was Wardrop's oversight, and he wept bitterly before the men as hegave the order to unbolt the struts and flatten them with hammer and theflame. Now the broken engine was underpinned firmly, and they took awaythe wooden shores from under the cylinders, and gave them to the robbedbridge, thanking God for even half a day's work on gentle, kindly woodinstead of the iron that had entered into their souls. Eight monthsin the back-country among the leeches, at a temperature of 84 degreesmoist, is very bad for the nerves. 

They had kept the hardest work to the last, as boys save Latin prose, and, worn though they were, Mr. Wardrop did not dare to give them rest. The piston-rod and connecting-rod were to be straightened, and thiswas a job for a regular dockyard with every appliance. They fell to it, cheered by a little chalk showing of work done and time consumed whichMr. Wardrop wrote up on the engine-room bulkhead. Fifteen days hadgone--fifteen days of killing labour--and there was hope before them. 

It is curious that no man knows how the rods were straightened. Thecrew of the Haliotis remember that week very dimly, as a fever patientremembers the delirium of a long night. There were fires everywhere, they say; the whole ship was one consuming furnace, and the hammers werenever still. Now, there could not have been more than one fire at themost, for Mr. Wardrop distinctly recalls that no straightening was doneexcept under his own eye. They remember, too, that for many years voicesgave orders which they obeyed with their bodies, but their minds wereabroad on all the seas. It seems to them that they stood through daysand nights slowly sliding a bar backwards and forwards through a whiteglow that was part of the ship. They remember an intolerable noise intheir burning heads from the walls of the stoke-hole, and they rememberbeing savagely beaten by men whose eyes seemed asleep. When theirshift was over they would draw straight lines in the air, anxiously andrepeatedly, and would question one another in their sleep, crying, "Isshe straight?"

At last--they do not remember whether this was by day or by night--Mr. Wardrop began to dance clumsily, and wept the while; and they too dancedand wept, and went to sleep twitching all over; and when they woke, mensaid that the rods were straightened, and no one did any work for twodays, but lay on the decks and ate fruit. Mr. Wardrop would go belowfrom time to time, and pat the two rods where they lay, and they heardhim singing hymns. 

Then his trouble of mind went from him, and at the end of the thirdday's idleness he made a drawing in chalk upon the deck, with letters ofthe alphabet at the angles. He pointed out that, though the piston-rodwas more or less straight, the piston-rod cross-head--the thing thathad been jammed sideways in the guides--had been badly strained, andhad cracked the lower end of the piston-rod. He was going to forge andshrink a wrought-iron collar on the neck of the piston-rod where itjoined the cross-head, and from the collar he would bolt a Y-shapedpiece of iron whose lower arms should be bolted into the cross-head. If anything more were needed, they could use up the last of theboiler-plate. 

So the forges were lit again, and men burned their bodies, but hardlyfelt the pain. The finished connection was not beautiful, but it seemedstrong enough--at least, as strong as the rest of the machinery; andwith that job their labours came to an end. All that remained was toconnect up the engines, and to get food and water. The skipper and fourmen dealt with the Malay boat-builder by night chiefly; it was no timeto haggle over the price of sago and dried fish. The others stayedaboard and replaced piston, piston-rod, cylinder-cover, cross-head, andbolts, with the aid of the faithful donkey-engine. The cylinder-coverwas hardly steam-proof, and the eye of science might have seen in theconnecting-rod a flexure something like that of a Christmas-tree candlewhich has melted and been straightened by hand over a stove, but, as Mr. Wardrop said, "She didn't hit anything. "

As soon as the last bolt was in place, men tumbled over one another intheir anxiety to get to the hand starting-gear, the wheel and worm, by which some engines can be moved when there is no steam aboard. Theynearly wrenched off the wheel, but it was evident to the blindest eyethat the engines stirred. They did not revolve in their orbits with anyenthusiasm, as good machines should; indeed, they groaned not a little;but they moved over and came to rest in a way which proved that theystill recognised man's hand. Then Mr. Wardrop sent his slaves into thedarker bowels of the engine-room and the stoke-hole, and followed themwith a flare-lamp. The boilers were sound, but would take no harm froma little scaling and cleaning. Mr. Wardrop would not have any oneover-zealous, for he feared what the next stroke of the tool might show. "The less we know about her now, " said he, "the better for us all, I'm thinkin'. Ye'll understand me when I say that this is in no senseregular engineerin'. "

As his raiment, when he spoke, was his grey beard and uncut hair, theybelieved him. They did not ask too much of what they met, but polishedand tallowed and scraped it to a false brilliancy. 

"A lick of paint would make me easier in my mind, " said Mr. Wardrop, plaintively. "I know half the condenser-tubes are started; and thepropeller-shaftin''s God knows how far out of the true, and we'll needa new air-pump, an' the main-steam leaks like a sieve, and there's worseeach way I look; but--paint's like clothes to a man, 'an ours is nearall gone. "

The skipper unearthed some stale ropy paint of the loathsome green thatthey used for the galleys of sailing-ships, and Mr. Wardrop spread itabroad lavishly to give the engines self-respect. 

His own was returning day by day, for he wore his loin-clothcontinuously; but the crew, having worked under orders, did not feel ashe did. The completed work satisfied Mr. Wardrop. He would at the lasthave made shift to run to Singapore, and gone home without vengeancetaken to show his engines to his brethren in the craft; but theothers and the captain forbade him. They had not yet recovered theirself-respect. 

"It would be safer to make what ye might call a trial trip, but beggarsmustn't be choosers; an if the engines will go over to the hand-gear, the probability--I'm only saying it's a probability--the chance is thatthey'll hold up when we put steam on her. "

"How long will you take to get steam?" said the skipper. 

"God knows! Four hours--a day--half a week. If I can raise sixty poundI'll not complain. "

"Be sure of her first; we can't afford to go out half a mile, and breakdown. "

"My soul and body, man, we're one continuous breakdown, fore an' aft! Wemight fetch Singapore, though. "

"We'll break down at Pygang-Watai, where we can do good, " was theanswer, in a voice that did not allow argument. "She's my boat, and--I've had eight months to think in. "

No man saw the Haliotis depart, though many heard her. She left at twoin the morning, having cut her moorings, and it was none of her crew'spleasure that the engines should strike up a thundering half-seas-overchanty that echoed among the hills. Mr. Wardrop wiped away a tear as helistened to the new song. 

"She's gibberin'--she's just gibberin', " he whimpered. "Yon's the voiceof a maniac. "

And if engines have any soul, as their masters believe, he was quiteright. There were outcries and clamours, sobs and bursts of chatteringlaughter, silences where the trained ear yearned for the clear note, andtorturing reduplications where there should have been one deep voice. Down the screw-shaft ran murmurs and warnings, while a heart-diseasedflutter without told that the propeller needed re-keying. 

"How does she make it?" said the skipper. 

"She moves, but--but she's breakin' my heart. The sooner we're atPygang-Watai, the better. She's mad, and we're waking the town. "

"Is she at all near safe?"

"What do I care how safe she is? She's mad. Hear that, now! To be sure, nothing's hittin' anything, and the bearin's are fairly cool, but--canye not hear?"

"If she goes, " said the skipper, "I don't care a curse. And she's myboat, too. "

She went, trailing a fathom of weed behind her. From a slow two knots anhour she crawled up to a triumphant four. Anything beyond that madethe struts quiver dangerously, and filled the engine-room with steam. Morning showed her out of sight of land, and there was a visible rippleunder her bows; but she complained bitterly in her bowels, and, asthough the noise had called it, there shot along across the purple seaa swift, dark proa, hawk-like and curious, which presently rangedalongside and wished to know if the Haliotis were helpless. Ships, eventhe steamers of the white men, had been known to break down in thosewaters, and the honest Malay and Javanese traders would sometimes aidthem in their own peculiar way. But this ship was not full of ladypassengers and well-dressed officers. Men, white, naked and savage, swarmed down her sides--some with red-hot iron bars, and others withlarge hammers--threw themselves upon those innocent inquiring strangers, and, before any man could say what had happened, were in full possessionof the proa, while the lawful owners bobbed in the water overside. Half an hour later the proa's cargo of sago and trepang, as well as adoubtful-minded compass, was in the Haliotis. The two huge triangularmat sails, with their seventy-foot yards and booms, had followed thecargo, and were being fitted to the stripped masts of the steamer. 

They rose, they swelled, they filled, and the empty steamer visibly laidover as the wind took them. They gave her nearly three knots an hour, and what better could men ask? But if she had been forlorn before, thisnew purchase made her horrible to see. Imagine a respectable charwomanin the tights of a ballet-dancer rolling drunk along the streets, and you will come to some faint notion of the appearance of thatnine-hundred-ton, well-decked, once schooner-rigged cargo-boat as shestaggered under her new help, shouting and raving across the deep. Withsteam and sail that marvellous voyage continued; and the bright-eyedcrew looked over the rail, desolate, unkempt, unshorn, shamelesslyclothed beyond the decencies. 

At the end of the third week she sighted the island of Pygang-Watai, whose harbour is the turning-point of a pearl sea-patrol. Here thegun-boats stay for a week ere they retrace their line. There is novillage at Pygang-Watai; only a stream of water, some palms, and aharbour safe to rest in till the first violence of the southeast monsoonhas blown itself out. 

They opened up the low coral beach, with its mound of whitewashed coalready for supply, the deserted huts for the sailors, and the flaglessflagstaff. 

Next day there was no Haliotis--only a little proa rocking in the warmrain at the mouth of the harbour, whose crew watched with hungry eyesthe smoke of a gunboat on the horizon. 

Months afterwards there were a few lines in an English newspaper to theeffect that some gunboat of some foreign Power had broken her backat the mouth of some far-away harbour by running at full speed into asunken wreck. 

WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR

PART I

 I have done one braver thing Than all the worthies did; And yet a braver thence doth spring, Which is to keep that hid. 

 The Undertaking. 

"Is it officially declared yet?"

"They've gone as far as to admit 'extreme local scarcity, ' and they'vestarted relief-works in one or two districts, the paper says. "

"That means it will be declared as soon as they can make sure of the menand the rolling-stock. Shouldn't wonder if it were as bad as the '78Famine. "

"'Can't be, " said Scott, turning a little in the long cane chair. 

"We've had fifteen-anna crops in the north, and Bombay and Bengal reportmore than they know what to do with. They'll be able to check it beforeit gets out of hand. It will only be local. "

Martyn picked the "Pioneer" from the table, read through the telegramsonce more, and put up his feet on the chair-rests. It was a hot, dark, breathless evening, heavy with the smell of the newly watered Mall. Theflowers in the Club gardens were dead and black on their stalks, thelittle lotus-pond was a circle of caked mud, and the tamarisk-trees werewhite with the dust of weeks. Most of the men were at the band-standin the public gardens--from the Club verandah you could hear the nativePolice band hammering stale waltzes--or on the polo-ground, or in thehigh-walled fives-court, hotter than a Dutch oven. Half a dozen grooms, squatted at the heads of their ponies, waited their masters' return. From time to time a man would ride at a foot-pace into the Clubcompound, and listlessly loaf over to the whitewashed barracks besidethe main building. These were supposed to be chambers. Men lived inthem, meeting the same white faces night after night at dinner, anddrawing out their office-work till the latest possible hour, that theymight escape that doleful company. 

"What are you going to do?" said Martyn, with a yawn. "Let's have aswim before dinner. "

"Water's hot. I was at the bath to-day. "

"Play you game o' billiards--fifty up. "

"It's a hundred and five in the hall now. Sit still and don't be soabominably energetic. "

A grunting camel swung up to the porch, his badged and belted riderfumbling a leather pouch. 

"Kubber-kargaz-ki-yektraaa, " the man whined, handing down the newspaperextra--a slip printed on one side only, and damp from the press. It waspinned up on the green-baize board, between notices of ponies for saleand fox-terriers missing. 

Martyn rose lazily, read it, and whistled. "It's declared!" he cried. "One, two, three--eight districts go under the operations of the FamineCode ek dum. They've put Jimmy Hawkins in charge. "

"Good business!" said Scott, with the first sign of interest he hadshown. "When in doubt hire a Punjabi. I worked under Jimmy when I firstcame out and he belonged to the Punjab. He has more bundobust than mostmen. "

"Jimmy's a Jubilee Knight now, " said Martyn. "He's a good chap, even though he is a thrice-born civilian and went to the BenightedPresidency. What unholy names these Madras districts rejoice in--allungas or rungas or pillays or polliums!"

A dog-cart drove up in the dusk, and a man entered, mopping his head. He was editor of the one daily paper at the capital of a Province oftwenty-five million natives and a few hundred white men: as his staffwas limited to himself and one assistant, his office-hours ran variouslyfrom ten to twenty a day. 

"Hi, Raines; you're supposed to know everything, " said Martyn, stoppinghim. "How's this Madras 'scarcity' going to turn out?"

"No one knows as yet. There's a message as long as your arm coming inon the telephone. I've left my cub to fill it out. Madras has owned shecan't manage it alone, and Jimmy seems to have a free hand in gettingall the men he needs. Arbuthnot's warned to hold himself in readiness. "

"'Badger' Arbuthnot?"

"The Peshawur chap. Yes: and the Pi wires that Ellis and Clay have beenmoved from the Northwest already, and they've taken half a dozen Bombaymen, too. It's pukka famine, by the looks of it. "

"They're nearer the scene of action than we are; but if it comes toindenting on the Punjab this early, there's more in this than meets theeye, " said Martyn. 

"Here to-day and gone to-morrow. 'Didn't come to stay for ever, "said Scott, dropping one of Marryat's novels, and rising to his feet. "Martyn, your sister's waiting for you. "

A rough grey horse was backing and shifting at the edge of the verandah, where the light of a kerosene lamp fell on a brown-calico habit and awhite face under a grey-felt hat. 

"Right, O!" said Martyn. "I'm ready. Better come and dine with us, ifyou've nothing to do, Scott. William, is there any dinner in the house?"

"I'll go home and see, " was the rider's answer. "You can drive himover--at eight, remember. "

Scott moved leisurely to his room, and changed into the evening-dress ofthe season and the country: spotless white linen from head to foot, with a broad silk cummerbund. Dinner at the Martyns' was a decidedimprovement on the goat-mutton, twiney-tough fowl, and tinned entrees ofthe Club. But it was a great pity that Martyn could not afford to sendhis sister to the hills for the hot weather. As an Acting DistrictSuperintendent of Police, Martyn drew the magnificent pay of six hundreddepreciated silver rupees a month, and his little four-roomed bungalowsaid just as much. There were the usual blue-and-white-striped jail-maderugs on the uneven floor; the usual glass-studded Amritsar phulkarisdraped on nails driven into the flaking whitewash of the walls; theusual half-dozen chairs that did not match, picked up at sales of deadmen's effects; and the usual streaks of black grease where the leatherpunka-thong ran through the wall. It was as though everything had beenunpacked the night before to be repacked next morning. Not a door in thehouse was true on its hinges. The little windows, fifteen feet up, weredarkened with wasp-nests, and lizards hunted flies between the beams ofthe wood-ceiled roof. But all this was part of Scott's life. Thus didpeople live who had such an income; and in a land where each man's pay, age, and position are printed in a book, that all may read, it is hardlyworth while to play at pretence in word or deed. Scott counted eightyears' service in the Irrigation Department, and drew eight hundredrupees a month, on the understanding that if he served the Statefaithfully for another twenty-two years he could retire on a pension ofsome four hundred rupees a month. His working-life, which had been spentchiefly under canvas or in temporary shelters where a man could sleep, eat, and write letters, was bound up with the opening and guarding ofirrigation canals, the handling of two or three thousand workmen of allcastes and creeds, and the payment of vast sums of coined silver. 

He had finished that spring, not without credit, the last section ofthe great Mosuhl Canal, and--much against his will, for he hatedoffice-work--had been sent in to serve during the hot weather on theaccounts and supply side of the Department, with sole charge of thesweltering sub-office at the capital of the Province. Martyn knew this;William, his sister, knew it; and everybody knew it. Scott knew, too, as well as the rest of the world, that Miss Martyn had come out to Indiafour years ago to keep house for her brother, who, as every one knew, had borrowed the money to pay for her passage, and that she ought, asall the world said, to have married at once. In stead of this, shehad refused some half a dozen subalterns, a Civilian twenty years hersenior, one Major, and a man in the Indian Medical Department. This, too, was common property. She had "stayed down three hot weathers, " asthe saying is, because her brother was in debt and could not afford theexpense of her keep at even a cheap hill-station. Therefore her face waswhite as bone, and in the centre of her forehead was a big silvery scarabout the size of a shilling--the mark of a Delhi sore, which is thesame as a "Bagdad date. " This comes from drinking bad water, and slowlyeats into the flesh till it is ripe enough to be burned out. 

None the less William had enjoyed herself hugely in her four years. Twice she had been nearly drowned while fording a river; once shehad been run away with on a camel; had witnessed a midnight attack ofthieves on her brother's camp; had seen justice administered, with longsticks, in the open under trees; could speak Urdu and even rough Punjabiwith a fluency that was envied by her seniors; had entirely fallen outof the habit of writing to her aunts in England, or cutting the pages ofthe English magazines; had been through a very bad cholera year, seeingsights unfit to be told; and had wound up her experiences by six weeksof typhoid fever, during which her head had been shaved and hoped tokeep her twenty-third birthday that September. It is conceivable thatthe aunts would not have approved of a girl who never set foot on theground if a horse were within hail; who rode to dances with a shawlthrown over her skirt; who wore her hair cropped and curling all overher head; who answered indifferently to the name of William or Bill;whose speech was heavy with the flowers of the vernacular; who could actin amateur theatricals, play on the banjo, rule eight servants andtwo horses, their accounts and their diseases, and look men slowly anddeliberately between the eyes--even after they had proposed to her andbeen rejected. 

"I like men who do things, " she had confided to a man in the EducationalDepartment, who was teaching the sons of cloth-merchants and dyers thebeauty of Wordsworth's "Excursion" in annotated cram-books; and when hegrew poetical, William explained that she "didn't understand poetry verymuch; it made her head ache, " and another broken heart took refuge atthe Club. But it was all William's fault. She delighted in hearing mentalk of their own work, and that is the most fatal way of bringing a manto your feet. 

Scott had known her for some three years, meeting her, as a rule, undercanvass, when his camp and her brother's joined for a day on the edgeof the Indian Desert. He had danced with her several times at the bigChristmas gatherings, when as many as five hundred white people came into the station; and had always a great respect for her housekeeping andher dinners. 

She looked more like a boy than ever when, the meal ended, she sat, rolling cigarettes, her low forehead puckered beneath the dark curls asshe twiddled the papers and stuck out her rounded chin when the tobaccostayed in place, or, with a gesture as true as a school-boy's throwing astone, tossed the finished article across the room to Martyn, whocaught it with one hand, and continued his talk with Scott. It was all"shop, "--canals and the policing of canals; the sins of villagers whostole more water than they had paid for, and the grosser sin of nativeconstables who connived at the thefts; of the transplanting bodily ofvillages to newly irrigated ground, and of the coming fight with thedesert in the south when the Provincial funds should warrant the openingof the long-surveyed Luni Protective Canal System. And Scott spokeopenly of his great desire to be put on one particular section of thework where he knew the land and the people; and Martyn sighed for abillet in the Himalayan foot-hills, and said his mind of his superiors, and William rolled cigarettes and said nothing, but smiled gravely onher brother because he was happy. 

At ten Scott's horse came to the door, and the evening was ended. Thelights of the two low bungalows in which the daily paper was printedshowed bright across the road. It was too early to try to find sleep, and Scott drifted over to the editor. Raines, stripped to the waist likea sailor at a gun, lay half asleep in a long chair, waiting for nighttelegrams. He had a theory that if a man did not stay by his work allday and most of the night he laid himself open to fever: so he ate andslept among his files. 

"Can you do it?" he said drowsily. "I didn't mean to bring you over. "

"About what? I've been dining at the Martyns'. "

"The Madras famine, of course. Martyn's warned, too. They're takingmen where they can find 'em. I sent a note to you at the Club just now, asking if you could do us a letter once a week from the south--betweentwo and three columns, say. Nothing sensational, of course, butjust plain facts about who is doing what, and so forth. Our regularrates--ten rupees a column. "

"'Sorry, but it's out of my line, " Scott answered, staring absently atthe map of India on the wall. "It's rough on Martyn--very. 'Wonder whathe'll do with his sister? 'Wonder what the deuce they'll do with me?I've no famine experience. This is the first I've heard of it. Am Iordered?"

"Oh, yes. Here's the wire. They'll put you on to relief-works, " Rainessaid, "with a horde of Madrassis dying like flies; one native apothecaryand half a pint of cholera-mixture among the ten thousand of you. Itcomes of your being idle for the moment. Every man who isn't doing twomen's work seems to have been called upon. Hawkins evidently believes inPunjabis. It's going to be quite as bad as anything they have had in thelast ten years. "

"It's all in the day's work, worse luck. I suppose I shall get my ordersofficially some time to-morrow. I'm awfully glad I happened to drop in. Better go and pack my kit now. Who relieves me here--do you know?"

Raines turned over a sheaf of telegrams. "McEuan, " said he, "fromMurree. "

Scott chuckled. "He thought he was going to be cool all summer. He'll bevery sick about this. Well, no good talking. 'Night. "

Two hours later, Scott, with a clear conscience, laid himself down torest on a string cot in a bare room. Two worn bullock trunks, a leatherwater-bottle, a tin ice-box, and his pet saddle sewed up in sacking werepiled at the door, and the Club secretary's receipt for last month'sbill was under his pillow. His orders came next morning, and with theman unofficial telegram from Sir James Hawkins; who was not in the habitof forgetting good men when he had once met them, bidding him reporthimself with all speed at some unpronounceable place fifteen hundredmiles to the south, for the famine was sore in the land, and white menwere needed. 

A pink and fattish youth arrived in the red-hot noonday, whimpering alittle at fate and famines, which never allowed any one three months'peace. He was Scott's successor--another cog in the machinery, movedforward behind his fellow whose services, as the official announcementran, "were placed at the disposal of the Madras Government for famineduty until further orders. " Scott handed over the funds in his charge, showed him the coolest corner in the office, warned him against excessof zeal, and, as twilight fell, departed from the Club in a hiredcarriage, with his faithful body-servant, Faiz Ullah, and a mound ofdisordered baggage atop, to catch the southern mail at the loopholed andbastioned railway-station. The heat from the thick brick walls struckhim across the face as if it had been a hot towel; and he reflected thatthere were at least five nights and four days of this travel before him. Faiz Ullah, used to the chances of service, plunged into the crowd onthe stone platform, while Scott, a black cheroot between his teeth, waited till his compartment should be set away. A dozen nativepolicemen, with their rifles and bundles, shouldered into the press ofPunjabi farmers, Sikh craftsmen, and greasy-locked Afreedee pedlars, escorting with all pomp Martyn's uniform-case, water-bottles, ice-box, and bedding-roll. They saw Faiz Ullah's lifted hand, and steered for it. 

"My Sahib and your Sahib, " said Faiz Ullah to Martyn's man, "will traveltogether. Thou and I, O brother, will thus secure the servants' placesclose by; and because of our masters' authority none will dare todisturb us. "

When Faiz Ullah reported all things ready, Scott settled down at fulllength, coatless and bootless, on the broad leather-covered bunk. Theheat under the iron-arched roof of the station might have been anythingover a hundred degrees. At the last moment Martyn entered, dripping. 

"Don't swear, " said Scott, lazily; "it's too late to change yourcarriage; and we'll divide the ice. "

"What are you doing here?" said the police-man. 

"I'm lent to the Madras Government, same as you. By Jove, it's a benderof a night! Are you taking any of your men down?"

"A dozen. I suppose I shall have to superintend relief distributions. 'Didn't know you were under orders too. "

"I didn't till after I left you last night. Raines had the news first. My orders came this morning. McEuan relieved me at four, and I gotoff at once. 'Shouldn't wonder if it wouldn't be a good thing--thisfamine--if we come through it alive. "

"Jimmy ought to put you and me to work together, " said Martyn; and then, after a pause: "My sister's here. "

"Good business, " said Scott, heartily. "Going to get off at Umballa, Isuppose, and go up to Simla. Who'll she stay with there?"

"No-o; that's just the trouble of it. She's going down with me. "

Scott sat bolt upright under the oil-lamps as the train jolted pastTarn-Taran. "What! You don't mean you couldn't afford--"

"'Tain't that. I'd have scraped up the money somehow. "

"You might have come to me, to begin with, " said Scott, stiffly; "wearen't altogether strangers. "

"Well, you needn't be stuffy about it. I might, but--you don't know mysister. I've been explaining and exhorting and all the rest of it allday--lost my temper since seven this morning, and haven't got it backyet--but she wouldn't hear of any compromise. A woman's entitled totravel with her husband if she wants to; and William says she's on thesame footing. You see, we've been together all our lives, more or less, since my people died. It isn't as if she were an ordinary sister. "

"All the sisters I've ever heard of would have stayed where they werewell off. "

She's as clever as a man, confound--Martyn went on. "She broke up thebungalow over my head while I was talking at her. 'Settled the wholething in three hours--servants, horses, and all. I didn't get my orderstill nine. "

"Jimmy Hawkins won't be pleased, " said Scott "A famine's no place for awoman. "

"Mrs. Jim--I mean Lady Jim's in camp with him. At any rate, she saysshe will look after my sister. William wired down to her on her ownresponsibility, asking if she could come, and knocked the ground fromunder me by showing me her answer. "

Scott laughed aloud. "If she can do that she can take care of herself, and Mrs. Jim won't let her run into any mischief. There aren't manywomen, sisters or wives, who would walk into a famine with their eyesopen. It isn't as if she didn't know what these things mean. She wasthrough the Jalo cholera last year. "

The train stopped at Amritsar, and Scott went back to the ladies'compartment, immediately behind their carriage. William, with a clothriding-cap on her curls, nodded affably. 

"Come in and have some tea, " she said. "'Best thing in the world forheat-apoplexy. "

"Do I look as if I were going to have heat-apoplexy?"

"'Never can tell, " said William, wisely. "It's always best to be ready. "

She had arranged her compartment with the knowledge of an oldcampaigner. A felt-covered water-bottle hung in the draught of one ofthe shuttered windows; a tea-set of Russian china, packed in a waddedbasket, stood on the seat; and a travelling spirit-lamp was clampedagainst the woodwork above it. 

William served them generously, in large cups, hot tea, which saves theveins of the neck from swelling inopportunely on a hot night. It wascharacteristic of the girl that, her plan of action once settled, sheasked for no comments on it. Life among men who had a great deal of workto do, and very little time to do it in, had taught her the wisdom ofeffacing, as well as of fending for, herself. She did not by word ordeed suggest that she would be useful, comforting, or beautiful in theirtravels, but continued about her business serenely: put the cups backwithout clatter when tea was ended, and made cigarettes for her guests. 

"This time last night, " said Scott, "we didn't expect--er--this kind ofthing, did we?"

"I've learned to expect anything, " said William. "You know, in ourservice, we live at the end of the telegraph; but, of course, this oughtto be a good thing for us all, departmentally--if we live. "

"It knocks us out of the running in our own Province, " Scott replied, with equal gravity. "I hoped to be put on the Luni Protective Works thiscold weather, but there's no saying how long the famine may keep us. "

"Hardly beyond October, I should think, " said Martyn. "It will be ended, one way or the other, then. "

"And we've nearly a week of this, " said William. "Sha'n't we be dustywhen it's over?"

For a night and a day they knew their surroundings, and for a night anda day, skirting the edge of the great Indian Desert on a narrow-gaugerailway, they remembered how in the days of their apprenticeship theyhad come by that road from Bombay. Then the languages in which the namesof the stations were written changed, and they launched south into aforeign land, where the very smells were new. Many long and heavilyladen grain-trains were in front of them, and they could feel the handof Jimmy Hawkins from far off. They waited in extemporised sidings whileprocessions of empty trucks returned to the north, and were coupled onto slow, crawling trains, and dropped at midnight, Heaven knew where;but it was furiously hot, and they walked to and fro among sacks, anddogs howled. Then they came to an India more strange to them than to theuntravelled Englishman--the flat, red India of palm-tree, palmyra-palm, and rice--the India of the picture-books, of "Little Harry and HisBearer"--all dead and dry in the baking heat. They had left theincessant passenger-traffic of the north and west far and far behindthem. Here the people crawled to the side of the train, holding theirlittle ones in their arms; and a loaded truck would be left behind, themen and women clustering round it like ants by spilled honey. Once inthe twilight they saw on a dusty plain a regiment of little brown men, each bearing a body over his shoulder; and when the train stoppedto leave yet another truck, they perceived that the burdens were notcorpses, but only foodless folk picked up beside dead oxen by a corps ofIrregular troops. Now they met more white men, here one and there two, whose tents stood close to the line, and who came armed with writtenauthorities and angry words to cut off a truck. They were too busy to domore than nod at Scott and Martyn, and stare curiously at William, whocould do nothing except make tea, and watch how her men staved off therush of wailing, walking skeletons, putting them down three at a timein heaps, with their own hands uncoupling the marked trucks, or takingreceipts from the hollow-eyed, weary white men, who spoke another argotthan theirs. They ran out of ice, out of soda-water, and out of tea; forthey were six days and seven nights on the road, and it seemed to themlike seven times seven years. 

At last, in a dry, hot dawn, in a land of death, lit by long red firesof railway-sleepers, where they were burning the dead, they came totheir destination, and were met by Jim Hawkins, the Head of the Famine, unshaven, unwashed, but cheery, and entirely in command of affairs. 

Martyn, he decreed then and there, was to live on trains till furtherorders; was to go back with empty trucks, filling them with starvingpeople as he found them, and dropping them at a famine-camp on the edgeof the Eight Districts. He would pick up supplies and return, and hisconstables would guard the loaded grain-cars, also picking up people, and would drop them at a camp a hundred miles south. Scott--Hawkinswas very glad to see Scott again--would that same hour take charge of aconvoy of bullock-carts, and would go south, feeding as he went, to yetanother famine-camp, where he would leave his starving--there wouldbe no lack of starving on the route--and wait for orders by telegraph. Generally, Scott was in all small things to act as he thought best. 

William bit her under lip. There was no one in the wide world like herone brother, but Martyn's orders gave him no discretion. 

She came out on the platform, masked with dust from head to foot, ahorse-shoe wrinkle on her forehead, put here by much thinking during thepast week, but as self-possessed as ever. Mrs. Jim--who should have beenLady Jim but that no one remembered the title--took possession of herwith a little gasp. 

"Oh, I'm so glad you're here, " she almost sobbed. "You oughtn't to, ofcourse, but there--there isn't another woman in the place, and we musthelp each other, you know; and we've all the wretched people and thelittle babies they are selling. "

"I've seen some, " said William. 

"Isn't it ghastly? I've bought twenty; they're in our camp; but won'tyou have something to eat first? We've more than ten people can do here;and I've got a horse for you. Oh, I'm so glad you've come, dear. You'rea Punjabi, too, you know. "

"Steady, Lizzie, " said Hawkins, over his shoulder. "We'll look afteryou, Miss Martyn. 'Sorry I can't ask you to breakfast, Martyn. You'llhave to eat as you go. Leave two of your men to help Scott. Thesepoor devils can't stand up to load carts. Saunders" (this to theengine-driver, who was half asleep in the cab), "back down and get thoseempties away. You've 'line clear' to Anundrapillay; they'll give youorders north of that. Scott, load up your carts from that B. P. P. Truck, and be off as soon as you can. The Eurasian in the pink shirt isyour interpreter and guide. You'll find an apothecary of sorts tied tothe yoke of the second wagon. He's been trying to bolt; you'll have tolook after him. Lizzie, drive Miss Martyn to camp, and tell them to sendthe red horse down here for me. "

Scott, with Faiz Ullah and two policemen, was already busied withthe carts, backing them up to the truck and unbolting the sideboardsquietly, while the others pitched in the bags of millet and wheat. Hawkins watched him for as long as it took to fill one cart. 

"That's a good man, " he said. "If all goes well I shall work him hard. "This was Jim Hawkins's notion of the highest compliment one human beingcould pay another. 

An hour later Scott was under way; the apothecary threatening himwith the penalties of the law for that he, a member of the SubordinateMedical Department, had been coerced and bound against his will and alllaws governing the liberty of the subject; the pink-shirted Eurasianbegging leave to see his mother, who happened to be dying some threemiles away: "Only verree, verree short leave of absence, and willpresently return, sar--"; the two constables, armed with staves, bringing up the rear; and Faiz Ullah, a Mohammedan's contempt for allHindoos and foreigners in every line of his face, explaining to thedrivers that though Scott Sahib was a man to be feared on all fours, he, Faiz Ullah, was Authority Itself. 

The procession creaked past Hawkins's camp--three stained tents undera clump of dead trees, behind them the famine-shed, where a crowd ofhopeless ones tossed their arms around the cooking-kettles. 

"'Wish to Heaven William had kept out of it, " said Scott to himself, after a glance. "We'll have cholera, sure as a gun, when the Rainsbreak. "

But William seemed to have taken kindly to the operations of the FamineCode, which, when famine is declared, supersede the workings of theordinary law. Scott saw her, the centre of a mob of weeping women, in acalico riding-habit, and a blue-grey felt hat with a gold puggaree. 

"I want fifty rupees, please. I forgot to ask Jack before he went away. Can you lend it me? It's for condensed-milk for the babies, " said she. 

Scott took the money from his belt, and handed it over without a word. "For goodness sake, take care of yourself, " he said. 

"Oh, I shall be all right. We ought to get the milk in two days. By theway, the orders are, I was to tell you, that you're to take one of SirJim's horses. There's a grey Cabuli here that I thought would be justyour style, so I've said you'd take him. Was that right?"

"That's awfully good of you. We can't either of us talk much aboutstyle, I am afraid. "

Scott was in a weather-stained drill shooting-kit, very white atthe seams and a little frayed at the wrists. William regarded himthoughtfully, from his pith helmet to his greased ankle-boots. "You lookvery nice, I think. Are you sure you've everything you'll need--quinine, chlorodyne, and so on?"

"'Think so, " said Scott, patting three or four of his shooting-pocketsas he mounted and rode alongside his convoy. 

"Good-bye, " he cried. 

"Good-bye, and good luck, " said William. "I'm awfully obliged for themoney. " She turned on a spurred heel and disappeared into the tent, while the carts pushed on past the famine-sheds, past the roaring linesof the thick, fat fires, down to the baked Gehenna of the South. 

PART II

 So let us melt and make no noise, No tear-floods nor sigh-tempests move; 'Twere profanation of our joys To tell the Laity our love. 

 A Valediction. 

It was punishing work, even though he travelled by night and camped byday; but within the limits of his vision there was no man whom Scottcould call master. He was as free as Jimmy Hawkins--freer, in fact, for the Government held the Head of the Famine tied neatly to atelegraph-wire, and if Jimmy had ever regarded telegrams seriously, thedeath-rate of that famine would have been much higher than it was. 

At the end of a few days' crawling Scott learned something of the sizeof the India which he served, and it astonished him. His carts, asyou know, were loaded with wheat, millet, and barley, good food-grainsneeding only a little grinding. But the people to whom he brought thelife-giving stuffs were rice-eaters. They could hull rice in theirmortars, but they knew nothing of the heavy stone querns of the North, and less of the material that the white man convoyed so laboriously. They clamoured for rice--unhusked paddy, such as they were accustomedto--and, when they found that there was none, broke away weeping fromthe sides of the cart. What was the use of these strange hard grainsthat choked their throats? They would die. And then and there verymany of them kept their word. Others took their allowance, and barteredenough millet to feed a man through a week for a few handfuls of rottenrice saved by some less unfortunate. A few put their share into therice-mortars, pounded it, and made a paste with foul water; but theywere very few. Scott understood dimly that many people in the India ofthe South ate rice, as a rule, but he had spent his service in a grainProvince, had seldom seen rice in the blade or ear, and least of allwould have believed that in time of deadly need men could die at arm'slength of plenty, sooner than touch food they did not know. In vain theinterpreters interpreted; in vain his two policemen showed in vigorouspantomime what should be done. The starving crept away to their bark andweeds, grubs, leaves, and clay, and left the open sacks untouched. Butsometimes the women laid their phantoms of children at Scott's feet, looking back as they staggered away. 

Faiz Ullah opined it was the will of God that these foreigners shoulddie, and it remained only to give orders to burn the dead. None the lessthere was no reason why the Sahib should lack his comforts, and FaizUllah, a campaigner of experience, had picked up a few lean goats andhad added them to the procession. That they might give milk for themorning meal, he was feeding them on the good grain that these imbecilesrejected. "Yes, " said Faiz Ullah; "if the Sahib thought fit, a littlemilk might be given to some of the babies"; but, as the Sahib well knew, babies were cheap, and, for his own part, Faiz Ullah held that there wasno Government order as to babies. Scott spoke forcefully to Faiz Ullahand the two policemen, and bade them capture goats where they could findthem. This they most joyfully did, for it was a recreation, and manyownerless goats were driven in. Once fed, the poor brutes were willingenough to follow the carts, and a few days' good food--food such ashuman beings died for lack of--set them in milk again. 

"But I am no goatherd, " said Faiz Ullah. "It is against my izzat [myhonour]. "

"When we cross the Bias River again we will talk of izzat, " Scottreplied. "Till that day thou and the policemen shall be sweepers to thecamp, if I give the order. "

"Thus, then, it is done, " grunted Faiz Ullah, "if the Sahib will have itso"; and he showed how a goat should be milked, while Scott stood overhim. 

"Now we will feed them, " said Scott; "twice a day we will feed them";and he bowed his back to the milking, and took a horrible cramp. 

When you have to keep connection unbroken between a restless mother ofkids and a baby who is at the point of death, you suffer in all yoursystem. But the babies were fed. Each morning and evening Scott wouldsolemnly lift them out one by one from their nest of gunny-bags underthe cart-tilts. There were always many who could do no more thanbreathe, and the milk was dropped into their toothless mouths drop bydrop, with due pauses when they choked. Each morning, too, the goatswere fed; and since they would straggle without a leader, and since thenatives were hirelings, Scott was forced to give up riding, and paceslowly at the head of his flocks, accommodating his step to theirweaknesses. All this was sufficiently absurd, and he felt the absurditykeenly; but at least he was saving life, and when the women saw thattheir children did not die, they made shift to eat a little of thestrange foods, and crawled after the carts, blessing the master of thegoats. 

"Give the women something to live for, " said Scott to himself, as hesneezed in the dust of a hundred little feet, "and they'll hang onsomehow. This beats William's condensed-milk trick all to pieces. Ishall never live it down, though. "

He reached his destination very slowly, found that a rice-ship had comein from Burmah, and that stores of paddy were available; found also anoverworked Englishman in charge of the shed, and, loading the carts, set back to cover the ground he had already passed. He left some ofthe children and half his goats at the famine-shed. For this he was notthanked by the Englishman, who had already more stray babies than heknew what to do with. Scott's back was suppled to stooping now, and hewent on with his wayside ministrations in addition to distributing thepaddy. More babies and more goats were added unto him; but now some ofthe babies wore rags, and beads round their wrists or necks. "That" saidthe interpreter, as though Scott did not know, "signifies that theirmothers hope in eventual contingency to resume them offeecially. "

"The sooner, the better, " said Scott; but at the same time he marked, with the pride of ownership, how this or that little Ramasawmy wasputting on flesh like a bantam. As the paddy-carts were emptied heheaded for Hawkins's camp by the railway, timing his arrival to fit inwith the dinner-hour, for it was long since he had eaten at a cloth. Hehad no desire to make any dramatic entry, but an accident of the sunsetordered it that when he had taken off his helmet to get the eveningbreeze, the low light should fall across his forehead, and he could notsee what was before him; while one waiting at the tent door beheld withnew eyes a young man, beautiful as Paris, a god in a halo of goldendust, walking slowly at the head of his flocks, while at his kneeran small naked Cupids. But she laughed--William, in a slate-colouredblouse, laughed consumedly till Scott, putting the best face he couldupon the matter, halted his armies and bade her admire the kindergarten. It was an unseemly sight, but the proprieties had been left ages ago, with the tea-party at Amritsar Station, fifteen hundred miles to thenorth. 

"They are coming on nicely, " said William. "We've only five-and-twentyhere now. The women are beginning to take them away again. "

"Are you in charge of the babies, then?"

"Yes--Mrs. Jim and I. We didn't think of goats, though. We've beentrying condensed-milk and water. "

"Any losses?"

"More than I care to think of;" said William, with a shudder. "And you?"

Scott said nothing. There had been many little burials along hisroute--one cannot burn a dead baby--many mothers who had wept when theydid not find again the children they had trusted to the care of theGovernment. 

Then Hawkins came out carrying a razor, at which Scott looked hungrily, for he had a beard that he did not love. And when they sat down todinner in the tent he told his tale in few words, as it might have beenan official report. Mrs. Jim snuffled from time to time, and Jim bowedhis head judicially; but William's grey eyes were on the clean-shavenface, and it was to her that Scott seemed to appeal. 

"Good for the Pauper Province!" said William, her chin on her hand, asshe leaned forward among the wine-glasses. Her cheeks had fallen in, and the scar on her forehead was more prominent than ever, but thewell-turned neck rose roundly as a column from the ruffle of the blousewhich was the accepted evening-dress in camp. 

"It was awfully absurd at times, " said Scott. "You see, I didn't knowmuch about milking or babies. They'll chaff my head off, if the talegoes up North. "

"Let 'em, " said William, haughtily. "We've all done coolie-work since wecame. I know Jack has. " This was to Hawkins's address, and the big mansmiled blandly. 

"Your brother's a highly efficient officer, William, " said he, "and I'vedone him the honour of treating him as he deserves. Remember, I writethe confidential reports. "

"Then you must say that William's worth her weight in gold, " said Mrs. Jim. "I don't know what we should have done without her. She has beeneverything to us. " She dropped her hand upon William's, which was roughwith much handling of reins, and William patted it softly. Jim beamedon the company. Things were going well with his world. Three of his moregrossly incompetent men had died, and their places had been filled bytheir betters. Every day brought the Rains nearer. They had put out thefamine in five of the Eight Districts, and, after all, the death-ratehad not been too heavy--things considered. He looked Scott overcarefully, as an ogre looks over a man, and rejoiced in his thews andiron-hard condition. 

"He's just the least bit in the world tucked up, " said Jim to himself, "but he can do two men's work yet. " Then he was aware that Mrs. Jim wastelegraphing to him, and according to the domestic code the message ran:"A clear case. Look at them!"

He looked and listened. All that William was saying was: "What canyou expect of a country where they call a bhistee [a water-carrier] atunni-cutch?" and all that Scott answered was: "I shall be glad to getback to the Club. Save me a dance at the Christmas Ball, won't you?"

"It's a far cry from here to the Lawrence Hall, " said Jim. "Better turnin early, Scott. It's paddy-carts to-morrow; you'll begin loading atfive. "

"Aren't you going to give Mr. Scott a single day's rest?"

"'Wish I could, Lizzie, but I'm afraid I can't. As long as he can standup we must use him. "

"Well, I've had one Europe evening, at least. By Jove, I'd nearlyforgotten! What do I do about those babies of mine?"

"Leave them here, " said William--"we are in charge of that--and as manygoats as you can spare. I must learn how to milk now. "

"If you care to get up early enough to-morrow I'll show you. I have tomilk, you see. Half of 'em have beads and things round their necks. Youmust be careful not to take 'em off; in case the mothers turn up. "

"You forget I've had some experience here. "

"I hope to goodness you won't overdo. " Scott's voice was unguarded. 

"I'll take care of her, " said Mrs. Jim, telegraphing hundred-wordmessages as she carried William off; while Jim gave Scott his orders forthe coming campaign. It was very late--nearly nine o'clock. 

"Jim, you're a brute, " said his wife, that night; and the Head of theFamine chuckled. 

"Not a bit of it, dear. I remember doing the first Jandiala Settlementfor the sake of a girl in a crinoline, and she was slender, Lizzie. I'venever done as good a piece of work since. He'll work like a demon. "

"But you might have given him one day. "

"And let things come to a head now? No, dear; it's their happiest time. "

"I don't believe either of the darlings know what's the matter withthem. Isn't it beautiful? Isn't it lovely?"

"Getting up at three to learn to milk, bless her heart! Oh, ye Gods, whymust we grow old and fat?"

"She's a darling. She has done more work under me--"

"Under you? The day after she came she was in charge and you were hersubordinate. You've stayed there ever since; she manages you almost aswell as you manage me. "

"She doesn't, and that's why I love her. She's as direct as a man--asher brother. "

"Her brother's weaker than she is. He's always to me for orders; buthe's honest, and a glutton for work. I confess I'm rather fond ofWilliam, and if I had a daughter--"

The talk ended. Far away in the Derajat was a child's grave more thantwenty years old, and neither Jim nor his wife spoke of it any more. 

"All the same, you're responsible, " Jim added, a moment's silence. 

"Bless 'em!" said Mrs. Jim, sleepily. 

Before the stars paled, Scott, who slept in an empty cart, waked andwent about his work in silence; it seemed at that hour unkind to rouseFaiz Ullah and the interpreter. His head being close to the ground, he did not hear William till she stood over him in the dingy oldriding-habit, her eyes still heavy with sleep, a cup of tea and a pieceof toast in her hands. There was a baby on the ground, squirming on apiece of blanket, and a six-year-old child peered over Scott's shoulder. 

"Hai, you little rip, " said Scott, "how the deuce do you expect to getyour rations if you aren't quiet?"

A cool white hand steadied the brat, who forthwith choked as the milkgurgled into his mouth. 

"'Mornin', " said the milker. "You've no notion how these little fellowscan wriggle. "

"Oh, yes, I have. " She whispered, because the world was asleep. "Only Ifeed them with a spoon or a rag. Yours are fatter than mine. And you'vebeen doing this day after day?" The voice was almost lost. 

"Yes; it was absurd. Now you try, " he said, giving place to the girl. "Look out! A goat's not a cow. "

The goat protested against the amateur, and there was a scuffle, inwhich Scott snatched up the baby. Then it was all to do over again, andWilliam laughed softly and merrily. She managed, however, to feed twobabies, and a third. 

"Don't the little beggars take it well?" said Scott. "I trained 'em. "

They were very busy and interested, when lo! it was broad daylight, andbefore they knew, the camp was awake, and they kneeled among the goats, surprised by the day, both flushed to the temples. Yet all the roundworld rolling up out of the darkness might have heard and seen all thathad passed between them. 

"Oh, " said William, unsteadily, snatching up the tea and toast, "I hadthis made for you. It's stone-cold now. I thought you mightn't haveanything ready so early. 'Better not drink it. It's--it's stone-cold. "

"That's awfully kind of you. It's just right. It's awfully good of you, really. I'll leave my kids and goats with you and Mrs. Jim, and, ofcourse, any one in camp can show you about the milking. "

"Of course, " said William; and she grew pinker and pinker and statelierand more stately, as she strode back to her tent, fanning herself withthe saucer. 

There were shrill lamentations through the camp when the elder childrensaw their nurse move off without them. Faiz Ullah unbent so far as tojest with the policemen, and Scott turned purple with shame becauseHawkins, already in the saddle, roared. 

A child escaped from the care of Mrs. Jim, and, running like a rabbit, clung to Scott's boot, William pursuing with long, easy strides. 

"I will not go--I will not go!" shrieked the child, twining his feetround Scott's ankle. "They will kill me here. I do not know thesepeople. "

"I say, " said Scott, in broken Tamil, "I say, she will do you no harm. Go with her and be well fed. "

"Come!" said William, panting, with a wrathful glance at Scott, whostood helpless and, as it were, hamstrung. 

"Go back, " said Scott quickly to William. "I'll send the little chap overin a minute. "

The tone of authority had its effect, but in a way Scott did not exactlyintend. The boy loosened his grasp, and said with gravity: "I did notknow the woman was thine. I will go. " Then he cried to his companions, a mob of three-, four-, and five-year-olds waiting on the success of hisventure ere they stampeded: "Go back and eat. It is our man's woman. Shewill obey his orders. "

Jim collapsed where he sat; Faiz Ullah and the two policemen grinned;and Scott's orders to the cartmen flew like hail. 

"That is the custom of the Sahibs when truth is told in their presence, "said Faiz Ullah. "The time comes that I must seek new service. Youngwives, especially such as speak our language and have knowledge of theways of the Police, make great trouble for honest butlers in the matterof weekly accounts. "

What William thought of it all she did not say, but when her brother, ten days later, came to camp for orders, and heard of Scott'sperformances, he said, laughing: "Well, that settles it. He'll be BakriScott to the end of his days. " (Bakri in the Northern vernacular, meansa goat. ) "What a lark! I'd have given a month's pay to have seen himnursing famine babies. I fed some with conjee [rice-water], but that wasall right. "

"It's perfectly disgusting, " said his sister, with blazing eyes. "A mandoes something like--like that--and all you other men think of is togive him an absurd nickname, and then you laugh and think it's funny. "

"Ah, " said Mrs. Jim, sympathetically. 

"Well, you can't talk, William. You christened little Miss Demby theButton-quail, last cold weather; you know you did. India's the land ofnicknames. "

"That's different, " William replied. "She was only a girl, and shehadn't done anything except walk like a quail, and she does. But itisn't fair to make fun of a man. "

"Scott won't care, " said Martyn. "You can't get a rise out of oldScotty. I've been trying for eight years, and you've only known him forthree. How does he look?"

"He looks very well, " said William, and went away with a flushed cheek. "Bakri Scott, indeed!" Then she laughed to herself, for she knew hercountry. "But it will he Bakri all the same"; and she repeated it underher breath several times slowly, whispering it into favour. 

When he returned to his duties on the railway, Martyn spread the namefar and wide among his associates, so that Scott met it as he led hispaddy-carts to war. The natives believed it to be some English title ofhonour, and the cart-drivers used it in all simplicity till Faiz Ullah, who did not approve of foreign japes, broke their heads. There was verylittle time for milking now, except at the big camps, where Jim hadextended Scott's idea and was feeding large flocks on the uselessnorthern grains. Sufficient paddy had come now into the Eight Districtsto hold the people safe, if it were only distributed quickly, and forthat purpose no one was better than the big Canal officer, who neverlost his temper, never gave an unnecessary order, and never questionedan order given. Scott pressed on, saving his cattle, washing theirgalled necks daily, so that no time should be lost on the road; reportedhimself with his rice at the minor famine-sheds, unloaded, and went backlight by forced night-march to the next distributing centre, to findHawkins's unvarying telegram: "Do it again. " And he did it again andagain, and yet again, while Jim Hawkins, fifty miles away, marked offon a big map the tracks of his wheels gridironing the stricken lands. Others did well--Hawkins reported at the end they all did well--butScott was the most excellent, for he kept good coined rupees by him, settled for his own cart-repairs on the spot, and ran to meet all sortsof unconsidered extras, trusting to be recouped later on. Theoretically, the Government should have paid for every shoe and linchpin, for everyhand employed in the loading; but Government vouchers cash themselvesslowly, and intelligent and efficient clerks write at great length, contesting unauthorised expenditures of eight annas. The man who wantsto make his work a success must draw on his own bank-account of money orother things as he goes. 

"I told you he'd work, " said Jimmy to his wife, at the end of six weeks. "He's been in sole charge of a couple of thousand men up north, on theMosuhl Canal, for a year; but he gives less trouble than young Martynwith his ten constables; and I'm morally certain--only Governmentdoesn't recognise moral obligations--he's spent about half his pay togrease his wheels. Look at this, Lizzie, for one week's work! Fortymiles in two days with twelve carts; two days' halt building afamine-shed for young Rogers. (Rogers ought to have built it himself, the idiot!) Then forty miles back again, loading six carts on theway, and distributing all Sunday. Then in the evening he pitches in atwenty-page Demi-Official to me, saying the people where he is might be'advantageously employed on relief-work, ' and suggesting that he put 'emto work on some broken-down old reservoir he's discovered, so as to havea good water-supply when the Rains break. 'Thinks he can cauk the dam ina fortnight. Look at his marginal sketches--aren't they clear and good?I knew he was pukka, but I didn't know he was as pukka as this. "

"I must show these to William, " said Mrs. Jim. "The child's wearingherself out among the babies. "

"Not more than you are, dear. Well, another two months ought to see usout of the wood. I'm sorry it's not in my power to recommend you for aV. C. "

William sat late in her tent that night, reading through page after pageof the square handwriting, patting the sketches of proposed repairs tothe reservoir, and wrinkling her eyebrows over the columns of figures ofestimated water-supply. "And he finds time to do all this, " she cried toherself, "and--well, I also was present. I've saved one or two babies. "

She dreamed for the twentieth time of the god in the golden dust, and woke refreshed to feed loathsome black children, scores of them, wastrels picked up by the wayside, their bones almost breaking theirskin, terrible and covered with sores. 

Scott was not allowed to leave his cart-work, but his letter was dulyforwarded to the Government, and he had the consolation, not rare inIndia, of knowing that another man was reaping where he had sown. Thatalso was discipline profitable to the soul. 

"He's much too good to waste on canals, " said Jimmy. "Any one canoversee coolies. You needn't be angry, William; he can--but I need mypearl among bullock-drivers, and I've transferred him to the Khandadistrict, where he'll have it all to do over again. He should bemarching now. 

"He's not a coolie, " said William, furiously. "He ought to be doing hisregulation work. "

"He's the best man in his service, and that's saying a good deal; but ifyou must use razors to cut grindstones, why, I prefer the best cutlery. "

"Isn't it almost time we saw him again?" said Mrs. Jim. "I'm sure thepoor boy hasn't had a respectable meal for a month. He probably sits ona cart and eats sardines with his fingers. "

"All in good time, dear. Duty before decency--wasn't it Mr. Chucks saidthat?"

"No; it was Midshipman Easy, " William laughed. "I sometimes wonder howit will feel to dance or listen to a band again, or sit under a roof. Ican't believe I ever wore a ball-frock in my life. "

"One minute, " said Mrs. Jim, who was thinking. "If he goes to Khanda, hepasses within five miles of us. Of course he'll ride in. "

"Oh, no, he won't, " said William. 

"How do you know, dear?"

"It will take him off his work. He won't have time. "

"He'll make it, " said Mrs. Jim, with a twinkle. 

"It depends on his own judgment. There's absolutely no reason why heshouldn't, if he thinks fit, " said Jim. 

"He won't see fit, " William replied, without sorrow or emotion. "Itwouldn't be him if he did. "

"One certainly gets to know people rather well in times like these, "said Jim, drily; but William's face was serene as ever, and even as sheprophesied, Scott did not appear. 

The Rains fell at last, late, but heavily; and the dry, gashed earthwas red mud, and servants killed snakes in the camp, where every one wasweather-bound for a fortnight--all except Hawkins, who took horse andplashed about in the wet, rejoicing. Now the Government decreed thatseed-grain should be distributed to the people, as well as advances ofmoney for the purchase of new oxen; and the white men were doubly workedfor this new duty, while William skipped from brick to brick laid downon the trampled mud, and dosed her charges with warming medicines thatmade them rub their little round stomachs; and the milch goats throveon the rank grass. There was never a word from Scott in the Khandadistrict, away to the southeast, except the regular telegraphic reportto Hawkins. The rude country roads had disappeared; his drivers werehalf mutinous; one of Martyn's loaned policemen had died of cholera; andScott was taking thirty grains of quinine a day to fight the feverthat comes with the rain: but those were things Scott did not considernecessary to report. He was, as usual, working from a base of supplieson a railway line, to cover a circle of fifteen miles radius, and sincefull loads were impossible, he took quarter-loads, and toiled four timesas hard by consequence; for he did not choose to risk an epidemic whichmight have grown uncontrollable by assembling villagers in thousands atthe relief-sheds. It was cheaper to take Government bullocks, work themto death, and leave them to the crows in the wayside sloughs. 

That was the time when eight years of clean living and hard conditiontold, though a man's head were ringing like a bell from the cinchona, and the earth swayed under his feet when he stood and under his bed whenhe slept. If Hawkins had seen fit to make him a bullock-driver, that, hethought, was entirely Hawkins's own affair. There were men in the Northwho would know what he had done; men of thirty years' service in hisown department who would say that it was "not half bad"; and above, immeasurably above, all men of all grades, there was William in thethick of the fight, who would approve because she understood. He had sotrained his mind that it would hold fast to the mechanical routine ofthe day, though his own voice sounded strange in his own ears, and hishands, when he wrote, grew large as pillows or small as peas at the endof his wrists. That steadfastness bore his body to the telegraph-officeat the railway-station, and dictated a telegram to Hawkins saying thatthe Khanda district was, in his judgment, now safe, and he "waitedfurther orders. "

The Madrassee telegraph-clerk did not approve of a large, gaunt manfalling over him in a dead faint, not so much because of the weight asbecause of the names and blows that Faiz Ullah dealt him when he foundthe body rolled under a bench. Then Faiz Ullah took blankets, quilts, and coverlets where he found them, and lay down under them at hismaster's side, and bound his arms with a tent-rope, and filled him witha horrible stew of herbs, and set the policeman to fight him when hewished to escape from the intolerable heat of his coverings, and shutthe door of the telegraph-office to keep out the curious for two nightsand one day; and when a light engine came down the line, and Hawkinskicked in the door, Scott hailed him weakly but in a natural voice, andFaiz Ullah stood back and took all the credit. 

"For two nights, Heaven-born, he was pagal" said Faiz Ullah. "Look at mynose, and consider the eye of the policeman. He beat us with his boundhands; but we sat upon him, Heaven-born, and though his words were tez, we sweated him. Heaven-born, never has been such a sweat! He is weakernow than a child; but the fever has gone out of him, by the grace ofGod. There remains only my nose and the eye of the constabeel. Sahib, shall I ask for my dismissal because my Sahib has beaten me?" And FaizUllah laid his long thin hand carefully on Scott's chest to be surethat the fever was all gone, ere he went out to open tinned soups anddiscourage such as laughed at his swelled nose. 

"The district's all right, " Scott whispered. "It doesn't make anydifference. You got my wire? I shall be fit in a week. 'Can'tunderstand how it happened. I shall be fit in a few days. "

"You're coming into camp with us, " said Hawkins. 

"But look here--but--"

"It's all over except the shouting. We sha'n't need you Punjabisany more. On my honour, we sha'n't. Martyn goes back in a few weeks;Arbuthnot's returned already; Ellis and Clay are putting the lasttouches to a new feeder-line the Government's built as relief-work. Morten's dead--he was a Bengal man, though; you wouldn't know him. 'Ponmy word, you and Will--Miss Martyn--seem to have come through it as wellas anybody. "

"Oh, how is she, by-the-way?" The voice went up and down as he spoke. 

"Going strong when I left her. The Roman Catholic Missions are adoptingthe unclaimed babies to turn them into little priests; the Basil Missionis taking some, and the mothers are taking the rest. You should hear thelittle beggars howl when they're sent away from William. She's pulleddown a bit, but so are we all. Now, when do you suppose you'll be ableto move?"

"I can't come into camp in this state. I won't, " he replied pettishly. 

"Well, you are rather a sight, but from what I gathered there it seemedto me they'd be glad to see you under any conditions. I'll look overyour work here, if you like, for a couple of days, and you can pullyourself together while Faiz Ullah feeds you up. "

Scott could walk dizzily by the time Hawkins's inspection was ended, and he flushed all over when Jim said of his work that it was "nothalf bad, " and volunteered, further, that he had considered Scott hisright-hand man through the famine, and would feel it his duty to say asmuch officially. 

So they came back by rail to the old camp; but there were no crowdsnear it; the long fires in the trenches were dead and black, and thefamine-sheds were almost empty. 

"You see!" said Jim. "There isn't much more to do. 'Better ride up andsee the wife. They've pitched a tent for you. Dinner's at seven. I'vesome work here. "

Riding at a foot-pace, Faiz Ullah by his stirrup, Scott came to Williamin the brown-calico riding-habit, sitting at the dining-tent door, herhands in her lap, white as ashes, thin and worn, with no lustre in herhair. There did not seem to be any Mrs. Jim on the horizon, and all thatWilliam could say was: "My word, how pulled down you look!"

"I've had a touch of fever. You don't look very well yourself. "

"Oh, I'm fit enough. We've stamped it out. I suppose you know?"

Scott nodded. "We shall all be returned in a few weeks. Hawkins toldme. "

"Before Christmas, Mrs. Jim says. Sha'n't you be glad to go back? I cansmell the wood-smoke already"; William sniffed. "We shall be in timefor all the Christmas doings. I don't suppose even the Punjab Governmentwould be base enough to transfer Jack till the new year?"

"It seems hundreds of years ago--the Punjab and all that--doesn't it?Are you glad you came?"

"Now it's all over, yes. It has been ghastly here, though. You know wehad to sit still and do nothing, and Sir Jim was away so much. "

"Do nothing! How did you get on with the milking?"

"I managed it somehow--after you taught me. 'Remember?"

Then the talk stopped with an almost audible jar. Still no Mrs. Jim. 

"That reminds me, I owe you fifty rupees for the condensed-milk. Ithought perhaps you'd be coming here when you were transferred to theKhanda district, and I could pay you then; but you didn't. "

"I passed within five miles of the camp, but it was in the middle of amarch, you see, and the carts were breaking down every few minutes, andI couldn't get 'em over the ground till ten o'clock that night. I wantedto come awfully. You knew I did, didn't you?"

"I--believe--I--did, " said William, facing him with level eyes. "She wasno longer white. "

"Did you understand?"

"Why you didn't ride in? Of course I did. "

"Why?"

"Because you couldn't, of course. I knew that. "

"Did you care?"

"If you had come in--but I knew you wouldn't--but if you had, I shouldhave cared a great deal. You know I should. "

"Thank God I didn't! Oh, but I wanted to! I couldn't trust myself toride in front of the carts, because I kept edging 'em over here, don'tyou know?"

"I knew you wouldn't, " said William, contentedly. "Here's your fifty. "

Scott bent forward and kissed the hand that held the greasy notes. Itsfellow patted him awkwardly but very tenderly on the head. 

"And you knew, too, didn't you?" said William, in a new voice. 

"No, on my honour, I didn't. I hadn't the--the cheek to expect anythingof the kind, except. .. I say, were you out riding anywhere the day Ipassed by to Khanda?"

William nodded, and smiled after the manner of an angel surprised in agood deed. 

"Then it was just a speck I saw of your habit in the--"

"Palm-grove on the Southern cart-road. I saw your helmet when you cameup from the mullah by the temple--just enough to be sure that you wereall right. D' you care?"

This time Scott did not kiss her hand, for they were in the dusk of thedining-tent, and, because William's knees were trembling under her, shehad to sit down in the nearest chair, where she wept long and happily, her head on her arms; and when Scott imagined that it would be well tocomfort her, she needing nothing of the kind, she ran to her own tent;and Scott went out into the world, and smiled upon it largely andidiotically. But when Faiz Ullah brought him a drink, he found itnecessary to support one hand with the other, or the good whisky andsoda would have been spilled abroad. There are fevers and fevers. 

But it was worse--much worse--the strained, eye-shirking talk at dinnertill the servants had withdrawn, and worst of all when Mrs. Jim, whohad been on the edge of weeping from the soup down, kissed Scott andWilliam, and they drank one whole bottle of champagne, hot, becausethere was no ice, and Scott and William sat outside the tent in thestarlight till Mrs. Jim drove them in for fear of more fever. 

Apropos of these things and some others William said: "Being engaged isabominable, because, you see, one has no official position. We must bethankful we've lots of things to do. "

"Things to do!" said Jim, when that was reported to him. "They'reneither of them any good any more. I can't get five hours' work a dayout of Scott. He's in the clouds half the time. "

"Oh, but they're so beautiful to watch, Jimmy. It will break my heartwhen they go. Can't you do anything for him?"

"I've given the Government the impression--at least, I hope I have--thathe personally conducted the entire famine. But all he wants is to get onto the Luni Canal Works, and William's just as bad. Have you ever heard'em talking of barrage and aprons and waste-water? It's their style ofspooning, I suppose. "

Mrs. Jim smiled tenderly. "Ah, that's in the intervals--bless 'em. "

And so Love ran about the camp unrebuked in broad daylight, while menpicked up the pieces and put them neatly away of the Famine in the EightDistricts. 

 * * * * *

Morning brought the penetrating chill of the Northern December, thelayers of wood-smoke, the dusty grey-blue of the tamarisks, the domesof ruined tombs, and all the smell of the white Northern plains, as themail-train ran on to the mile-long Sutlej Bridge. William, wrapped ina poshteen--a silk-embroidered sheepskin jacket trimmed with roughastrakhan--looked out with moist eyes and nostrils that dilatedjoyously. The South of pagodas and palm-trees, the overpopulated HinduSouth, was done with. Here was the land she knew and loved, and beforeher lay the good life she understood, among folk of her own caste andmind. 

They were picking them up at almost every station now--men and womencoming in for the Christmas Week, with racquets, with bundles ofpolo-sticks, with dear and bruised cricket-bats, with fox-terriers andsaddles. The greater part of them wore jackets like William's, for theNorthern cold is as little to be trifled with as the Northern heat. AndWilliam was among them and of them, her hands deep in her pockets, hercollar turned up over her ears, stamping her feet on the platforms asshe walked up and down to get warm, visiting from carriage to carriageand everywhere being congratulated. Scott was with the bachelors at thefar end of the train, where they chaffed him mercilessly about feedingbabies and milking goats; but from time to time he would stroll up toWilliam's window, and murmur: "Good enough, isn't it?" and William wouldanswer with sighs of pure delight: "Good enough, indeed. " The largeopen names of the home towns were good to listen to. Umballa, Ludianah, Phillour, Jullundur, they rang like the coming marriage-bells in herears, and William felt deeply and truly sorry for all strangers andoutsiders--visitors, tourists, and those fresh-caught for the service ofthe country. 

It was a glorious return, and when the bachelors gave the ChristmasBall, William was, unofficially, you might say, the chief and honouredguest among the Stewards, who could make things very pleasant for theirfriends. She and Scott danced nearly all the dances together, and satout the rest in the big dark gallery overlooking the superb teak floor, where the uniforms blazed, and the spurs clinked, and the new frocks andfour hundred dancers went round and round till the draped flags on thepillars flapped and bellied to the whirl of it. 

About midnight half a dozen men who did not care for dancing came overfrom the Club to play "Waits, " and that was a surprise the Stewards hadarranged--before any one knew what had happened, the band stopped, andhidden voices broke into "Good King Wenceslaus, " and William in thegallery hummed and beat time with her foot:

 "Mark my footsteps well, my page, Tread thou in them boldly. Thou shalt feel the winter's rage Freeze thy blood less coldly!"

"Oh, I hope they are going to give us another! Isn't it pretty, comingout of the dark in that way? Look--look down. There's Mrs. Gregorywiping her eyes!"

"It's like Home, rather, " said Scott. "I remember--"

"Hsh! Listen!--dear. " And it began again:

 "When shepherds watched their flocks by night--"

"A-h-h!" said William, drawing closer to Scott. 

 "All seated on the ground, The Angel of the Lord came down, And glory shone around. 'Fear not, ' said he (for mighty dread Had seized their troubled mind); 'Glad tidings of great joy I bring To you and all mankind. '"

This time it was William that wiped her eyes. 

. 007

A locomotive is, next to a marine engine, the most sensitive thing manever made; and No. . 007, besides being sensitive, was new. The red paintwas hardly dry on his spotless bumper-bar, his headlight shone likea fireman's helmet, and his cab might have been a hard-wood-finishparlour. They had run him into the round-house after his trial--hehad said good-bye to his best friend in the shops, the overheadtravelling-crane--the big world was just outside; and the other locoswere taking stock of him. He looked at the semicircle of bold, unwinkingheadlights, heard the low purr and mutter of the steam mounting inthe gauges--scornful hisses of contempt as a slack valve lifted alittle--and would have given a month's oil for leave to crawl throughhis own driving-wheels into the brick ash-pit beneath him. . 007 was aneight-wheeled "American" loco, slightly different from others of histype, and as he stood he was worth ten thousand dollars on the Company'sbooks. But if you had bought him at his own valuation, after half anhour's waiting in the darkish, echoing round-house, you would havesaved exactly nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine dollars andninety-eight cents. 

A heavy Mogul freight, with a short cow-catcher and a fire-box that camedown within three inches of the rail, began the impolite game, speakingto a Pittsburgh Consolidation, who was visiting. 

"Where did this thing blow in from?" he asked, with a dreamy puff oflight steam. 

"it's all I can do to keep track of our makes, " was the answer, "withoutlookin' after your back-numbers. Guess it's something Peter Cooper leftover when he died. "

. 007 quivered; his steam was getting up, but he held his tongue. Evena hand-car knows what sort of locomotive it was that Peter Cooperexperimented upon in the far-away Thirties. It carried its coal andwater in two apple-barrels, and was not much bigger than a bicycle. 

Then up and spoke a small, newish switching-engine, with a little stepin front of his bumper-timber, and his wheels so close together that helooked like a broncho getting ready to buck. 

"Something's wrong with the road when a Pennsylvania gravel-pusher tellsus anything about our stock, I think. That kid's all right. Eustisdesigned him, and Eustis designed me. Ain't that good enough?"

. 007 could have carried the switching-loco round the yard in his tender, but he felt grateful for even this little word of consolation. 

"We don't use hand-cars on the Pennsylvania, " said the Consolidation. "That--er--peanut-stand is old enough and ugly enough to speak forhimself. "

"He hasn't bin spoken to yet. He's bin spoke at. Hain't ye any mannerson the Pennsylvania?" said the switching-loco. 

"You ought to be in the yard, Poney, " said the Mogul, severely. "We'reall long-haulers here. "

"That's what you think, " the little fellow replied. "You'll know more'fore the night's out. I've bin down to Track 17, and the freightthere--oh, Christmas!"

"I've trouble enough in my own division, " said a lean, light suburbanloco with very shiny brake-shoes. "My commuters wouldn't rest till theygot a parlourcar. They've hitched it back of all, and it hauls worsena snow-plough. I'll snap her off someday sure, and then they'll blameevery one except their foolselves. They'll be askin' me to haul avestibuled next!"

"They made you in New Jersey, didn't they?" said Poney. "Thought so. Commuters and truck-wagons ain't any sweet haulin', but I tell youthey're a heap better 'n cuttin' out refrigerator-cars or oil-tanks. Why, I've hauled--"

"Haul! You?" said the Mogul, contemptuously. "It's all you can do tobunt a cold-storage car up the yard. Now, I--" he paused a little to letthe words sink in--"I handle the Flying Freight--e-leven cars worth justanything you please to mention. On the stroke of eleven I pull out;and I'm timed for thirty-five an hour. Costly-perishable-fragile, immediate--that's me! Suburban traffic's only but one degree better thanswitching. Express freight's what pays. "

"Well, I ain't given to blowing, as a rule, " began the PittsburghConsolidation. 

"No? You was sent in here because you grunted on the grade, " Poneyinterrupted. 

"Where I grunt, you'd lie down, Poney: but, as I was saying, I don'tblow much. Notwithstandin', if you want to see freight that is freightmoved lively, you should see me warbling through the Alleghanies withthirty-seven ore-cars behind me, and my brakemen fightin' tramps so'sthey can't attend to my tooter. I have to do all the holdin' back then, and, though I say it, I've never had a load get away from me yet. No, sir. Haulin's's one thing, but judgment and discretion's another. Youwant judgment in my business. "

"Ah! But--but are you not paralysed by a sense of your overwhelmingresponsibilities?" said a curious, husky voice from a corner. 

"Who's that?". 007 whispered to the Jersey commuter. 

"Compound-experiment-N. G. She's bin switchin' in the B. & A. Yards forsix months, when she wasn't in the shops. She's economical (I call itmean) in her coal, but she takes it out in repairs. Ahem! I presume youfound Boston somewhat isolated, madam, after your New York season?"

"I am never so well occupied as when I am alone. " The Compound seemed tobe talking from half-way up her smoke-stack. 

"Sure, " said the irreverent Poney, under his breath. "They don't hankerafter her any in the yard. "

"But, with my constitution and temperament--my work lies in Boston--Ifind your outrecuidance--"

"Outer which?" said the Mogul freight. "Simple cylinders are good enoughfor me. "

"Perhaps I should have said faroucherie, " hissed the Compound. 

"I don't hold with any make of papier-mache wheel, " the Mogul insisted. 

The Compound sighed pityingly, and said no more. 

"Git 'em all shapes in this world, don't ye?" said Poney, "that'sMass'chusetts all over. They half start, an' then they stick on adead-centre, an' blame it all on other folk's ways o' treatin' them. Talkin' o' Boston, Comanche told me, last night, he had a hot-box justbeyond the Newtons, Friday. That was why, he says, the Accommodation washeld up. Made out no end of a tale, Comanche did. "

"If I'd heard that in the shops, with my boiler out for repairs, I'dknow 't was one o' Comanche's lies, " the New Jersey commuter snapped. "Hot-box! Him! What happened was they'd put an extra car on, and he justlay down on the grade and squealed. They had to send 127 to help himthrough. Made it out a hotbox, did he? Time before that he said he wasditched! Looked me square in the headlight and told me that ascool as--as a water-tank in a cold wave. Hot-box! You ask 127 aboutComanche's hot-box. Why, Comanche he was side-tracked, and 127 (he wasjust about as mad as they make 'em on account o' being called out atten o'clock at night) took hold and snapped her into Boston in seventeenminutes. Hot-box! Hot fraud! that's what Comanche is. "

Then. 007 put both drivers and his pilot into it, as the saying is, forhe asked what sort of thing a hot-box might be?

"Paint my bell sky-blue!" said Poney, the switcher. "Make me asurface-railroad loco with a hard-wood skirtin'-board round my wheels. Break me up and cast me into five-cent sidewalk-fakirs' mechanical toys!Here's an eight-wheel coupled 'American' don't know what a hot-box is!Never heard of an emergency-stop either, did ye? Don't know what yecarry jack-screws for? You're too innocent to be left alone with yourown tender. Oh, you--you flatcar!"

There was a roar of escaping steam before any one could answer, and . 007nearly blistered his paint off with pure mortification. 

"A hot-box, " began the Compound, picking and choosing her wordsas though they were coal, "a hotbox is the penalty exacted frominexperience by haste. Ahem!"

"Hot-box!" said the Jersey Suburban. "It's the price you pay for goingon the tear. It's years since I've had one. It's a disease that don'tattack shorthaulers, as a rule. "

"We never have hot-boxes on the Pennsylvania, " said the Consolidation. "They get 'em in New York--same as nervous prostration. "

"Ah, go home on a ferry-boat, " said the Mogul. "You think because youuse worse grades than our road 'u'd allow, you're a kind of Alleghanyangel. Now, I'll tell you what you. .. Here's my folk. Well, I can'tstop. See you later, perhaps. "

He rolled forward majestically to the turn-table, and swung like aman-of-war in a tideway, till he picked up his track. "But as for you, you pea-green swiveling' coffee-pot (this to. 007'), you go out and learnsomething before you associate with those who've made more mileage ina week than you'll roll up in a year. Costly-perishable-fragileimmediate--that's me! S' long. "

"Split my tubes if that's actin' polite to a new member o' theBrotherhood, " said Poney. "There wasn't any call to trample on ye likethat. But manners was left out when Moguls was made. Keep up your fire, kid, an' burn your own smoke. 'Guess we'll all be wanted in a minute. "

Men were talking rather excitedly in the roundhouse. One man, in adingy jersey, said that he hadn't any locomotives to waste on the yard. Another man, with a piece of crumpled paper in his hand, said that theyard-master said that he was to say that if the other man said anything, he (the other man) was to shut his head. Then the other man waved hisarms, and wanted to know if he was expected to keep locomotives in hiship-pocket. Then a man in a black Prince Albert, without a collar, cameup dripping, for it was a hot August night, and said that what hesaid went; and between the three of them the locomotives began to go, too--first the Compound; then the Consolidation; then. 007. 

Now, deep down in his fire-box, . 007 had cherished a hope that as soon ashis trial was done, he would be led forth with songs and shoutings, andattached to a green-and-chocolate vestibuled flyer, under charge of abold and noble engineer, who would pat him on his back, and weep overhim, and call him his Arab steed. (The boys in the shops where he wasbuilt used to read wonderful stories of railroad life, and . 007 expectedthings to happen as he had heard. ) But there did not seem to be manyvestibuled fliers in the roaring, rumbling, electric-lighted yards, andhis engineer only said:

"Now, what sort of a fool-sort of an injector has Eustis loaded onto this rig this time?" And he put the lever over with an angry snap, crying: "Am I supposed to switch with this thing, hey?"

The collarless man mopped his head, and replied that, in the presentstate of the yard and freight and a few other things, the engineer wouldswitch and keep on switching till the cows came home. . 007 pushed outgingerly, his heart in his headlight, so nervous that the clang of hisown bell almost made him jump the track. Lanterns waved, or danced upand down, before and behind him; and on every side, six tracks deep, sliding backward and forward, with clashings of couplers and squeals ofhand-brakes, were cars--more cars than . 007 had dreamed of. Therewere oil-cars, and hay-cars, and stock-cars full of lowing beasts, and ore-cars, and potato-cars with stovepipe-ends sticking out in themiddle; cold-storage and refrigerator cars dripping ice water on thetracks; ventilated fruit--and milk-cars; flatcars with truck-wagons fullof market-stuff; flat-cars loaded with reapers and binders, all red andgreen and gilt under the sizzling electric lights; flat-cars piledhigh with strong-scented hides, pleasant hemlock-plank, or bundlesof shingles; flat-cars creaking to the weight of thirty-ton castings, angle-irons, and rivet-boxes for some new bridge; and hundreds andhundreds and hundreds of box-cars loaded, locked, and chalked. Men--hotand angry--crawled among and between and under the thousand wheels; mentook flying jumps through his cab, when he halted for a moment; men saton his pilot as he went forward, and on his tender as he returned; andregiments of men ran along the tops of the box-cars beside him, screwingdown brakes, waving their arms, and crying curious things. 

He was pushed forward a foot at a time; whirled backward, his reardrivers clinking and clanking, a quarter of a mile; jerked into a switch(yard-switches are very stubby and unaccommodating), bunted into a RedD, or Merchant's Transport car, and, with no hint or knowledge of theweight behind him, started up anew. When his load was fairly on themove, three or four cars would be cut off, and . 007 would bound forward, only to be held hiccupping on the brake. Then he would wait a fewminutes, watching the whirled lanterns, deafened with the clang of thebells, giddy with the vision of the sliding cars, his brake-pumppanting forty to the minute, his front coupler lying sideways on hiscow-catcher, like a tired dog's tongue in his mouth, and the whole ofhim covered with half-burnt coal-dust. 

"'Tisn't so easy switching with a straight-backed tender, " said hislittle friend of the round-house, bustling by at a trot. "But you'recomin' on pretty fair. 'Ever seen a flyin' switch? No? Then watch me. "

Poney was in charge of a dozen heavy flat-cars. Suddenly he shot awayfrom them with a sharp "Whutt!" A switch opened in the shadows ahead; heturned up it like a rabbit as it snapped behind him, and the long lineof twelve-foot-high lumber jolted on into the arms of a full-sizedroad-loco, who acknowledged receipt with a dry howl. 

"My man's reckoned the smartest in the yard at that trick, " he said, returning. "Gives me cold shivers when another fool tries it, though. That's where my short wheel-base comes in. Like as not you'd have yourtender scraped off if you tried it. "

. 007 had no ambitions that way, and said so. 

"No? Of course this ain't your regular business, but say, don't youthink it's interestin'? Have you seen the yard-master? Well, he's thegreatest man on earth, an' don't you forget it. When are we through?Why, kid, it's always like this, day an' night--Sundays an' week-days. See that thirty-car freight slidin' in four, no, five tracks off? She'sall mixed freight, sent here to be sorted out into straight trains. That's why we're cuttin' out the cars one by one. " He gave a vigorouspush to a west-bound car as he spoke, and started back with a littlesnort of surprise, for the car was an old friend--an M. T. K. Box-car. 

"Jack my drivers, but it's Homeless Kate! Why, Kate, ain't there nogettin' you back to your friends? There's forty chasers out for you fromyour road, if there's one. Who's holdin' you now?"

"Wish I knew, " whimpered Homeless Kate. "I belong in Topeka, but I'vebin to Cedar Rapids; I've bin to Winnipeg; I've bin to Newport News;I've bin all down the old Atlanta and West Point; an' I've bin toBuffalo. Maybe I'll fetch up at Haverstraw. I've only bin out tenmonths, but I'm homesick--I'm just achin' homesick. "

"Try Chicago, Katie, " said the switching-loco; and the battered oldcar lumbered down the track, jolting: "I want to be in Kansas when thesunflowers bloom. "

"'Yard's full o' Homeless Kates an' Wanderin' Willies, " he explainedto. 007. "I knew an old Fitchburg flat-car out seventeen months; an' oneof ours was gone fifteen 'fore ever we got track of her. Dunno quite howour men fix it. 'Swap around, I guess. Anyway, I've done my duty. She'son her way to Kansas, via Chicago; but I'll lay my next boilerful she'llbe held there to wait consignee's convenience, and sent back to us withwheat in the fall. "

Just then the Pittsburgh Consolidation passed, at the head of a dozencars. 

"I'm goin' home, " he said proudly. 

"Can't get all them twelve on to the flat. Break 'em in half, Dutchy!"cried Poney. But it was. 007 who was backed down to the last six cars, and he nearly blew up with surprise when he found himself pushingthem on to a huge ferry-boat. He had never seen deep water before, andshivered as the flat drew away and left his bogies within six inches ofthe black, shiny tide. 

After this he was hurried to the freight-house, where he saw theyard-master, a smallish, white-faced man in shirt, trousers, andslippers, looking down upon a sea of trucks, a mob of bawling truckmen, and squadrons of backing, turning, sweating, spark-striking horses. 

"That's shippers' carts loadin' on to the receivin' trucks, " said thesmall engine, reverently. "But he don't care. He lets 'em cuss. He'sthe Czar-King-Boss! He says 'Please, ' and then they kneel down an' pray. There's three or four strings o' today's freight to be pulled before hecan attend to them. When he waves his hand that way, things happen. "

A string of loaded cars slid out down the track, and a string of emptiestook their place. Bales, crates, boxes, jars, carboys, frails, cases, and packages flew into them from the freight-house as though the carshad been magnets and they iron filings. 

"Ki-yah!" shrieked little Poney. "Ain't it great?"

A purple-faced truckman shouldered his way to the yard-master, and shookhis fist under his nose. The yard-master never looked up from his bundleof freight receipts. He crooked his forefinger slightly, and a tallyoung man in a red shirt, lounging carelessly beside him, hit thetruckman under the left ear, so that he dropped, quivering and clucking, on a hay-bale. 

"Eleven, seven, ninety-seven, L. Y. S. ; fourteen ought ought three;nineteen thirteen; one one four; seventeen ought twenty-one M. B. ; andthe ten westbound. All straight except the two last. Cut 'em off at thejunction. An' that's all right. Pull that string. " The yard-master, withmild blue eyes, looked out over the howling truckmen at the waters inthe moonlight beyond, and hummed:

 "All things bright and beautiful, All creatures great and small, All things wise and wonderful, The Lawd Gawd He made all!"

. 007 moved out the cars and delivered them to the regular road-engine. He had never felt quite so limp in his life before. 

"Curious, ain't it?" said Poney, puffing, on the next track. "You an'me, if we got that man under our bumpers, we'd work him into red wastean' not know what we'd done; but-up there--with the steam hummin' in hisboiler that awful quiet way. .. "

"I know, " said. 007. "Makes me feel as if I'd dropped my Fire an' wasgetting cold. He is the greatest man on earth. "

They were at the far north end of the yard now, under a switchtower, looking down on the four-track way of the main traffic. The BostonCompound was to haul . 007's string to some far-away northern junctionover an indifferent road-bed, and she mourned aloud for the ninety-sixpound rails of the B. & A. 

"You're young; you're young, " she coughed. "You don't realise yourresponsibilities. "

"Yes, he does, " said Poney, sharply; "but he don't lie down under 'em. "Then, with aside-spurt of steam, exactly like a tough spitting: "Thereain't more than fifteen thousand dollars' worth o' freight behind heranyway, and she goes on as if 't were a hundred thousand--same as theMogul's. Excuse me, madam, but you've the track. .. . She's stuck on adead-centre again--bein' specially designed not to. "

The Compound crawled across the tracks on a long slant, groaninghorribly at each switch, and moving like a cow in a snow-drift. Therewas a little pause along the yard after her tail-lights had disappeared;switches locked crisply, and every one seemed to be waiting. 

"Now I'll show you something worth, " said Poney. "When the PurpleEmperor ain't on time, it's about time to amend the Constitution. Thefirst stroke of twelve is--"

"Boom!" went the clock in the big yard-tower, and far away. 007 hearda full, vibrating "Yah! Yah! Yah!" A headlight twinkled on the horizonlike a star, grew an overpowering blaze, and whooped up the hummingtrack to the roaring music of a happy giant's song:

 "With a michnai--ghignai--shtingal! Yah! Yah! Yah! Ein--zwei--drei--Mutter! Yah! Yah! Yah! She climb upon der shteeple, Und she frighten all der people. Singin' michnai--ghignai--shtingal! Yah! Yah!"

The last defiant "yah! yah!" was delivered a mile and a half beyondthe passenger-depot; but . 007 had caught one glimpse of the superbsix-wheel-coupled racing-locomotive, who hauled the pride and glory ofthe road--the gilt-edged Purple Emperor, the millionaires' south-boundexpress, laying the miles over his shoulder as a man peels a shavingfrom a soft board. The rest was a blur of maroon enamel, a bar of whitelight from the electrics in the cars, and a flicker of nickel-platedhand-rail on the rear platform. 

"Ooh!" said. 007. 

"Seventy-five miles an hour these five miles. Baths, I've heard;barber's shop; ticker; and a library and the rest to match. Yes, sir;seventy-five an hour! But he'll talk to you in the round-house just asdemocratic as I would. And I--cuss my wheel-base!--I'd kick clean offthe track at half his gait. He's the Master of our Lodge. Cleans up atour house. I'll introdooce you some day. He's worth knowin'! There ain'tmany can sing that song, either. "

. 007 was too full of emotions to answer. He did not hear a raging oftelephone-bells in the switch-tower, nor the man, as he leaned out andcalled to . 007's engineer: "Got any steam?"

"'Nough to run her a hundred mile out o' this, if I could, " said theengineer, who belonged to the open road and hated switching. 

"Then get. The Flying Freight's ditched forty mile out, with fifty rodo' track ploughed up. No; no one's hurt, but both tracks are blocked. Lucky the wreckin'-car an' derrick are this end of the yard. Crew 'll bealong in a minute. Hurry! You've the track. "

"Well, I could jest kick my little sawed-off self, " said Poney, as . 007was backed, with a bang, on to a grim and grimy car like a caboose, butfull of tools--a flatcar and a derrick behind it. "Some folks areone thing, and some are another; but you're in luck, kid. They push awrecking-car. Now, don't get rattled. Your wheel-base will keep youon the track, and there ain't any curves worth mentionin'. Oh, say!Comanche told me there's one section o' sawedged track that's liable tojounce ye a little. Fifteen an' a half out, after the grade at Jackson'scrossin'. You'll know it by a farmhouse an' a windmill an' fivemaples in the dooryard. Windmill's west o' the maples. An' there'san eighty-foot iron bridge in the middle o' that section with noguard-rails. See you later. Luck!"

Before he knew well what had happened, . 007 was flying up the track intothe dumb, dark world. Then fears of the night beset him. He rememberedall he had ever heard of landslides, rain-piled boulders, blown trees, and strayed cattle, all that the Boston Compound had ever said ofresponsibility, and a great deal more that came out of his own head. With a very quavering voice he whistled for his first grade-crossing(an event in the life of a locomotive), and his nerves were in no wayrestored by the sight of a frantic horse and a white-faced man in abuggy less than a yard from his right shoulder. Then he was sure hewould jump the track; felt his flanges mounting the rail at every curve;knew that his first grade would make him lie down even as Comanche haddone at the Newtons. He whirled down the grade to Jackson's crossing, saw the windmill west of the maples, felt the badly laid rails springunder him, and sweated big drops all over his boiler. At each jarringbump he believed an axle had smashed, and he took the eighty-foot bridgewithout the guard-rail like a hunted cat on the top of a fence. Thena wet leaf stuck against the glass of his headlight and threw a flyingshadow on the track, so that he thought it was some little dancinganimal that would feel soft if he ran over it; and anything softunderfoot frightens a locomotive as it does an elephant. But the menbehind seemed quite calm. The wrecking-crew were climbing carelesslyfrom the caboose to the tender--even jesting with the engineer, forhe heard a shuffling of feet among the coal, and the snatch of a song, something like this:

 "Oh, the Empire State must learn to wait, And the Cannon-ball go hang! When the West-bound's ditched, and the tool-car's hitched, And it's 'way for the Breakdown Gang (Tare-ra!) 'Way for the Breakdown Gang!"

"Say! Eustis knew what he was doin' when he designed this rig. She's ahummer. New, too. "

"Snff! Phew! She is new. That ain't paint, that's--"

A burning pain shot through . 007's right rear driver--a crippling, stinging pain. 

"This, " said . 007, as he flew, "is a hot-box. Now I know what it means. Ishall go to pieces, I guess. My first road-run, too!"

"Het a bit, ain't she?" the fireman ventured to suggest to the engineer. 

"She'll hold for all we want of her. We're 'most there. Guess you chapsback had better climb into your car, " said the engineer, his hand on thebrake lever. "I've seen men snapped off--"

But the crew fled back with laughter. They had no wish to be jerkedon to the track. The engineer half turned his wrist, and . 007 found hisdrivers pinned firm. 

"Now it's come!" said . 007, as he yelled aloud, and slid like a sleigh. For the moment he fancied that he would jerk bodily from off hisunderpinning. 

"That must be the emergency-stop that Poney guyed me about, " he gasped, as soon as he could think. "Hot-box-emergency-stop. They both hurt; butnow I can talk back in the round-house. "

He was halted, all hissing hot, a few feet in the rear of what doctorswould call a compound-comminuted car. His engineer was kneeling downamong his drivers, but he did not call. 007 his "Arab steed, " norcry over him, as the engineers did in the newspapers. He just badworded. 007, and pulled yards of charred cotton-waste from about theaxles, and hoped he might some day catch the idiot who had packed it. Nobody else attended to him, for Evans, the Mogul's engineer, a littlecut about the head, but very angry, was exhibiting, by lantern-light, the mangled corpse of a slim blue pig. 

"T were n't even a decent-sized hog, " he said. "'T were a shote. "

"Dangerousest beasts they are, " said one of the crew. "Get under thepilot an' sort o' twiddle ye off the track, don't they?"

"Don't they?" roared Evans, who was a red-headed Welshman. "You talk asif I was ditched by a hog every fool-day o' the week. I ain't friendswith all the cussed half-fed shotes in the State o' New York. No, indeed! Yes, this is him--an' look what he's done!"

It was not a bad night's work for one stray piglet. The Flying Freightseemed to have flown in every direction, for the Mogul had mounted therails and run diagonally a few hundred feet from right to left, takingwith him such cars as cared to follow. Some did not. They broke theircouplers and lay down, while rear cars frolicked over them. In thatgame, they had ploughed up and removed and twisted a good deal of theleft-hand track. The Mogul himself had waddled into a corn-field, andthere he knelt--fantastic wreaths of green twisted round his crankpins;his pilot covered with solid clods of field, on which corn noddeddrunkenly; his fire put out with dirt (Evans had done that as soon as herecovered his senses); and his broken headlight half full of half-burntmoths. His tender had thrown coal all over him, and he looked like adisreputable buffalo who had tried to wallow in a general store. For there lay scattered over the landscape, from the burst cars, type-writers, sewing-machines, bicycles in crates, a consignment ofsilver-plated imported harness, French dresses and gloves, a dozenfinely moulded hard-wood mantels, a fifteen-foot naphtha-launch, with asolid brass bedstead crumpled around her bows, a case of telescopes andmicroscopes, two coffins, a case of very best candies, some gilt-edgeddairy produce, butter and eggs in an omelette, a broken box of expensivetoys, and a few hundred other luxuries. A camp of tramps hurried up fromnowhere, and generously volunteered to help the crew. So the brakemen, armed with coupler-pins, walked up and down on one side, and thefreight-conductor and the fireman patrolled the other with their handsin their hip-pockets. A long-bearded man came out of a house beyond thecorn-field, and told Evans that if the accident had happened a littlelater in the year, all his corn would have been burned, and accusedEvans of carelessness. Then he ran away, for Evans was at his heelsshrieking: "'T was his hog done it--his hog done it! Let me kill him!Let me kill him!" Then the wrecking-crew laughed; and the farmer put hishead out of a window and said that Evans was no gentleman. 

But . 007 was very sober. He had never seen a wreck before, and itfrightened him. The crew still laughed, but they worked at the sametime; and 007 forgot horror in amazement at the way they handled theMogul freight. They dug round him with spades; they put ties in frontof his wheels, and jack-screws under him; they embraced him with thederrick-chain and tickled him with crowbars; while . 007 was hitched onto wrecked cars and backed away till the knot broke or the cars rolledclear of the track. By dawn thirty or forty men were at work, replacingand ramming down the ties, gauging the rails and spiking them. Bydaylight all cars who could move had gone on in charge of another loco;the track was freed for traffic; and 007 had hauled the old Mogul over asmall pavement of ties, inch by inch, till his flanges bit the rail oncemore, and he settled down with a clank. But his spirit was broken, andhis nerve was gone. 

"'T weren't even a hog, " he repeated dolefully; "'t were a shote; andyou--you of all of 'em--had to help me on. "

"But how in the whole long road did it happen?" asked 007, sizzling withcuriosity. 

"Happen! It didn't happen! It just come! I sailed right on top of himaround that last curve--thought he was a skunk. Yes; he was all aslittle as that. He hadn't more 'n squealed once 'fore I felt my bogieslift (he'd rolled right under the pilot), and I couldn't catch the trackagain to save me. Swivelled clean off, I was. Then I felt him slinghimself along, all greasy, under my left leadin' driver, and, oh, Boilers! that mounted the rail. I heard my flanges zippin' along theties, an' the next I knew I was playin' 'Sally, Sally Waters' in thecorn, my tender shuckin' coal through my cab, an' old man Evans lyin'still an' bleedin' in front o' me. Shook? There ain't a stay or a boltor a rivet in me that ain't sprung to glory somewhere. "

"Umm!" said 007. "What d' you reckon you weigh?"

"Without these lumps o' dirt I'm all of a hundred thousand pound. "

"And the shote?"

"Eighty. Call him a hundred pound at the outside. He's worth about four'n' a half dollars. Ain't it awful? Ain't it enough to give you nervousprostration? Ain't it paralysin'? Why, I come just around that curve--"and the Mogul told the tale again, for he was very badly shaken. 

"Well, it's all in the day's run, I guess, " said 007, soothingly;"an'--an' a corn-field's pretty soft fallin'. "

"If it had bin a sixty-foot bridge, an' I could ha' slid off into deepwater an' blown up an' killed both men, same as others have done, Iwouldn't ha' cared; but to be ditched by a shote--an' you to help meout--in a corn-field--an' an old hayseed in his nightgown cussin' melike as if I was a sick truck-horse!. .. Oh, it's awful! Don't call meMogul! I'm a sewin'-machine, they'll guy my sand-box off in the yard. "

And 007, his hot-box cooled and his experience vastly enlarged, hauledthe Mogul freight slowly to the roundhouse. 

"Hello, old man! Bin out all night, hain't ye?" said the irrepressiblePoney, who had just come off duty. "Well, I must say you look it. Costly-perishable-fragile-immediate--that's you! Go to the shops, takethem vine-leaves out o' your hair, an' git 'em to play the hose on you. "

"Leave him alone, Poney, " said 007 severely, as he was swung on theturn-table, "or I'll--"

"'Didn't know the old granger was any special friend o' yours, kid. Hewasn't over-civil to you last time I saw him. "

"I know it; but I've seen a wreck since then, and it has about scaredthe paint off me. I'm not going to guy anyone as long as I steam--notwhen they're new to the business an' anxious to learn. And I'm not goin'to guy the old Mogul either, though I did find him wreathed around withroastin'-ears. 'T was a little bit of a shote--not a hog--just a shote, Poney--no bigger'n a lump of anthracite--I saw it--that made all themess. Anybody can be ditched, I guess. "

"Found that out already, have you? Well, that's a good beginnin'. " Itwas the Purple Emperor, with his high, tight, plate-glass cab and greenvelvet cushion, waiting to be cleaned for his next day's fly. 

"Let me make you two gen'lemen acquainted, " said Poney. "This is ourPurple Emperor, kid, whom you were admirin' and, I may say, envyin' lastnight. This is a new brother, worshipful sir, with most of his mileageahead of him, but, so far as a serving-brother can, I'll answer forhim. '

"'Happy to meet you, " said the Purple Emperor, with a glance round thecrowded round-house. "I guess there are enough of us here to form a fullmeetin'. Ahem! By virtue of the authority vested in me as Head of theRoad, I hereby declare and pronounce No. . 007 a full and accepted Brotherof the Amalgamated Brotherhood of Locomotives, and as such entitled toall shop, switch, track, tank, and round-house privileges throughout myjurisdiction, in the Degree of Superior Flier, it bein' well known andcredibly reported to me that our Brother has covered forty-one miles inthirty-nine minutes and a half on an errand of mercy to the afflicted. At a convenient time, I myself will communicate to you the Song andSignal of this Degree whereby you may be recognised in the darkestnight. Take your stall, newly entered Brother among Locomotives!"

 * * * * *

Now, in the darkest night, even as the Purple Emperor said, if youwill stand on the bridge across the freightyard, looking down upon thefour-track way, at 2:30 A. M. , neither before nor after, when the WhiteMoth, that takes the overflow from the Purple Emperor, tears south withher seven vestibuled cream-white cars, you will hear, as the yard-clockmakes the half-hour, a far-away sound like the bass of a violoncello, and then, a hundred feet to each word, "With a michnai--ghignai--shtingal! Yah! Yah! Yah! Ein--zwei--drei--Mutter! Yah! Yah! Yah! She climb upon der shteeple, Und she frighten all der people, Singin' michnai--ghignai--shtingal! Yah! Yah!"

That is 007 covering his one hundred and fifty-six miles in two hundredand twenty-one minutes. 

THE MALTESE CAT

They had good reason to be proud, and better reason to be afraid, alltwelve of them; for though they had fought their way, game by game, up the teams entered for the polo tournament, they were meetingthe Archangels that afternoon in the final match; and the Archangels menwere playing with half a dozen ponies apiece. As the game was dividedinto six quarters of eight minutes each, that meant a fresh pony afterevery halt. The Skidars' team, even supposing there were no accidents, could only supply one pony for every other change; and two to one isheavy odds. Again, as Shiraz, the grey Syrian, pointed out, they weremeeting the pink and pick of the polo-ponies of Upper India, ponies thathad cost from a thousand rupees each, while they themselves were a cheaplot gathered, often from country-carts, by their masters, who belongedto a poor but honest native infantry regiment. 

"Money means pace and weight, " said Shiraz, rubbing his black-silk nosedolefully along his neat-fitting boot, "and by the maxims of the game asI know it--"

"Ah, but we aren't playing the maxims, " said The Maltese Cat. "We'replaying the game; and we've the great advantage of knowing the game. Just think a stride, Shiraz! We've pulled up from bottom to secondplace in two weeks against all those fellows on the ground here. That'sbecause we play with our heads as well as our feet. "

"It makes me feel undersized and unhappy all the same, " said Kittiwynk, a mouse-coloured mare with a red brow-band and the cleanest pair of legsthat ever an aged pony owned. "They've twice our style, these others. "

Kittiwynk looked at the gathering and sighed. The hard, dustypolo-ground was lined with thousands of soldiers, black and white, notcounting hundreds and hundreds of carriages and drags and dogcarts, andladies with brilliant-coloured parasols, and officers in uniform and outof it, and crowds of natives behind them; and orderlies on camels, whohad halted to watch the game, instead of carrying letters up and downthe station; and native horse-dealers running about on thin-earedBiluchi mares, looking for a chance to sell a few first-classpolo-ponies. Then there were the ponies of thirty teams that had enteredfor the Upper India Free-for-All Cup--nearly every pony of worth anddignity, from Mhow to Peshawar, from Allahabad to Multan; prize ponies, Arabs, Syrian, Barb, country-bred, Deccanee, Waziri, and Kabul ponies ofevery colour and shape and temper that you could imagine. Some of themwere in mat-roofed stables, close to the polo-ground, but most wereunder saddle, while their masters, who had been defeated in the earliergames, trotted in and out and told the world exactly how the game shouldbe played. 

It was a glorious sight, and the come and go of the little, quickhooves, and the incessant salutations of ponies that had met before onother polo-grounds or race-courses were enough to drive a four-footedthing wild. 

But the Skidars' team were careful not to know their neighbours, thoughhalf the ponies on the ground were anxious to scrape acquaintance withthe little fellows that had come from the North, and, so far, had sweptthe board. 

"Let's see, " said a soft gold-coloured Arab, who had been playing verybadly the day before, to The Maltese Cat; "didn't we meet in AbdulRahman's stable in Bombay, four seasons ago? I won the Paikpattan Cupnext season, you may remember?"

"Not me, " said The Maltese Cat, politely. "I was at Malta then, pullinga vegetable-cart. I don't race. I play the game. "

"Oh!" said the Arab, cocking his tail and swaggering off. 

"Keep yourselves to yourselves, " said The Maltese Cat to his companions. "We don't want to rub noses with all those goose-rumped half-breeds ofUpper India. When we've won this Cup they'll give their shoes to knowus. "

"We sha'n't win the Cup, " said Shiraz. "How do you feel?"

"Stale as last night's feed when a muskrat has run over it, " saidPolaris, a rather heavy-shouldered grey; and the rest of the team agreedwith him. 

"The sooner you forget that the better, " said The Maltese Cat, cheerfully. "They've finished tiffin in the big tent. We shall be wantednow. If your saddles are not comfy, kick. If your bits aren't easy, rear, and let the saises know whether your boots are tight. "

Each pony had his sais, his groom, who lived and ate and slept withthe animal, and had betted a good deal more than he could afford on theresult of the game. There was no chance of anything going wrong, butto make sure, each sais was shampooing the legs of his pony to the lastminute. Behind the saises sat as many of the Skidars' regiment as hadleave to attend the match--about half the native officers, and a hundredor two dark, black-bearded men with the regimental pipers nervouslyfingering the big, beribboned bagpipes. The Skidars were what they calla Pioneer regiment, and the bagpipes made the national music of halftheir men. The native officers held bundles of polo-sticks, longcane-handled mallets, and as the grand stand filled after lunch theyarranged themselves by ones and twos at different points round theground, so that if a stick were broken the player would not have far toride for a new one. An impatient British Cavalry Band struck up "If youwant to know the time, ask a p'leeceman!" and the two umpires in lightdust-coats danced out on two little excited ponies. The four players ofthe Archangels' team followed, and the sight of their beautiful mountsmade Shiraz groan again. 

"Wait till we know, " said The Maltese Cat. "Two of 'em are playing inblinkers, and that means they can't see to get out of the way of theirown side, or they may shy at the umpires' ponies. They've all got whiteweb-reins that are sure to stretch or slip!"

"And, " said Kittiwynk, dancing to take the stiffness out of her, "theycarry their whips in their hands instead of on their wrists. Hah!"

"True enough. No man can manage his stick and his reins and his whipthat way, " said The Maltese Cat. "I've fallen over every square yard ofthe Malta ground, and I ought to know. "

He quivered his little, flea-bitten withers just to show how satisfiedhe felt; but his heart was not so light. Ever since he had drifted intoIndia on a troop-ship, taken, with an old rifle, as part payment fora racing debt, The Maltese Cat had played and preached polo to theSkidars' team on the Skidars' stony pologround. Now a polo-pony is likea poet. If he is born with a love for the game, he can be made. TheMaltese Cat knew that bamboos grew solely in order that poloballs mightbe turned from their roots, that grain was given to ponies to keep themin hard condition, and that ponies were shod to prevent them slipping ona turn. But, besides all these things, he knew every trick and device ofthe finest game in the world, and for two seasons had been teaching theothers all he knew or guessed. 

"Remember, " he said for the hundredth time, as the riders came up, "youmust play together, and you must play with your heads. Whatever happens, follow the ball. Who goes out first?"

Kittiwynk, Shiraz, Polaris, and a short high little bay fellow withtremendous hocks and no withers worth speaking of (he was called Corks)were being girthed up, and the soldiers in the background stared withall their eyes. 

"I want you men to keep quiet, " said Lutyens, the captain of the team, "and especially not to blow your pipes. "

"Not if we win, Captain Sahib?" asked the piper. 

"If we win you can do what you please, " said Lutyens, with a smile, ashe slipped the loop of his stick over his wrist, and wheeled to canterto his place. The Archangels' ponies were a little bit above themselveson account of the many-coloured crowd so close to the ground. Theirriders were excellent players, but they were a team of crack playersinstead of a crack team; and that made all the difference in the world. They honestly meant to play together, but it is very hard for four men, each the best of the team he is picked from, to remember that in polono brilliancy in hitting or riding makes up for playing alone. Theircaptain shouted his orders to them by name, and it is a curious thingthat if you call his name aloud in public after an Englishman you makehim hot and fretty. Lutyens said nothing to his men, because it had allbeen said before. He pulled up Shiraz, for he was playing "back, " toguard the goal. Powell on Polaris was half-back, and Macnamara andHughes on Corks and Kittiwynk were forwards. The tough, bamboo ball wasset in the middle of the ground, one hundred and fifty yards from theends, and Hughes crossed sticks, heads up, with the Captain of theArchangels, who saw fit to play forward; that is a place from which youcannot easily control your team. The little click as the cane-shafts metwas heard all over the ground, and then Hughes made some sort of quickwrist-stroke that just dribbled the ball a few yards. Kittiwynk knewthat stroke of old, and followed as a cat follows a mouse. While theCaptain of the Archangels was wrenching his pony round, Hughes struckwith all his strength, and next instant Kittiwynk was away, Corksfollowing close behind her, their little feet pattering like raindropson glass. 

"Pull out to the left, " said Kittiwynk between her teeth; "it's comingyour way, Corks!"

The back and half-back of the Archangels were tearing down on her justas she was within reach of the ball. Hughes leaned forward with a looserein, and cut it away to the left almost under Kittiwynk's foot, and ithopped and skipped off to Corks, who saw that, if he was not quickit would run beyond the boundaries. That long bouncing drive gave theArchangels time to wheel and send three men across the ground to headoff Corks. Kittiwynk stayed where she was; for she knew the game. Corkswas on the ball half a fraction of a second before the others came up, and Macnamara, with a backhanded stroke, sent it back across the groundto Hughes, who saw the way clear to the Archangels' goal, and smackedthe ball in before any one quite knew what had happened. 

"That's luck, " said Corks, as they changed ends. "A goal in threeminutes for three hits, and no riding to speak of. "

"'Don't know, " said Polaris. "We've made 'em angry too soon. Shouldn'twonder if they tried to rush us off our feet next time. "

"Keep the ball hanging, then, " said Shiraz. "That wears out every ponythat is not used to it. "

Next time there was no easy galloping across the ground. All theArchangels closed up as one man, but there they stayed, for Corks, Kittiwynk, and Polaris were somewhere on the top of the ball, markingtime among the rattling sticks, while Shiraz circled about outside, waiting for a chance. 

"We can do this all day, " said Polaris, ramming his quarters into theside of another pony. "Where do you think you're shoving to?"

"I'll--I'll be driven in an ekka if I know, " was the gasping reply, "andI'd give a week's feed to get my blinkers off. I can't see anything. "

"The dust is rather bad. Whew! That was one for my off-hock. Where's theball, Corks?"

"Under my tail. At least, the man's looking for it there! This isbeautiful. They can't use their sticks, and it's driving 'em wild. Giveold Blinkers a push and then he'll go over. "

"Here, don't touch me! I can't see. I'll--I'll back out, I think, " saidthe pony in blinkers, who knew that if you can't see all round yourhead, you cannot prop yourself against the shock. 

Corks was watching the ball where it lay in the dust, close to his nearfore-leg, with Macnamara's shortened stick tap-tapping it from time totime. Kittiwynk was edging her way out of the scrimmage, whisking herstump of a tail with nervous excitement. 

"Ho! They've got it, " she snorted. "Let me out!" and she galloped likea rifle-bullet just behind a tall lanky pony of the Archangels, whoserider was swinging up his stick for a stroke. 

"Not to-day, thank you, " said Hughes, as the blow slid off his raisedstick, and Kittiwynk laid her shoulder to the tall pony's quarters, andshoved him aside just as Lutyens on Shiraz sent the ball where it hadcome from, and the tall pony went skating and slipping away to the left. Kittiwynk, seeing that Polaris had joined Corks in the chase for theball up the ground, dropped into Polaris' place, and then "time" wascalled. 

The Skidars' ponies wasted no time in kicking or fuming. They knew thateach minute's rest meant so much gain, and trotted off to the rails, andtheir saises began to scrape and blanket and rub them at once. 

"Whew!" said Corks, stiffening up to get all the tickle of the bigvulcanite scraper. "If we were playing pony for pony, we would bendthose Archangels double in half an hour. But they'll bring up fresh onesand fresh ones and fresh ones after that--you see. "

"Who cares?" said Polaris. "We've drawn first blood. Is my hockswelling?"

"Looks puffy, " said Corks. "You must have had rather a wipe. Don't letit stiffen. You 'll be wanted again in half an hour. "

"What's the game like?" said The Maltese Cat. 

"Ground's like your shoe, except where they put too much water on it, "said Kittiwynk. "Then it's slippery. Don't play in the centre. There's abog there. I don't know how their next four are going to behave, but wekept the ball hanging, and made 'em lather for nothing. Who goes out?Two Arabs and a couple of country-breds! That's bad. What a comfort itis to wash your mouth out!"

Kitty was talking with a neck of a lather-covered soda-water bottlebetween her teeth, and trying to look over her withers at the same time. This gave her a very coquettish air. 

"What's bad?" said Grey Dawn, giving to the girth and admiring hiswell-set shoulders. 

"You Arabs can't gallop fast enough to keep yourselves warm--that'swhat Kitty means, " said Polaris, limping to show that his hock neededattention. "Are you playing back, Grey Dawn?"

"'Looks like it, " said Grey Dawn, as Lutyens swung himself up. Powellmounted The Rabbit, a plain bay country-bred much like Corks, but withmulish ears. Macnamara took Faiz-Ullah, a handy, short-backed littlered Arab with a long tail, and Hughes mounted Benami, an old and sullenbrown beast, who stood over in front more than a polo-pony should. 

"Benami looks like business, " said Shiraz. "How's your temper, Ben?" Theold campaigner hobbled off without answering, and The Maltese Cat lookedat the new Archangel ponies prancing about on the ground. They were fourbeautiful blacks, and they saddled big enough and strong enough to eatthe Skidars' team and gallop away with the meal inside them. 

"Blinkers again, " said The Maltese Cat. "Good enough!"

"They're chargers-cavalry chargers!" said Kittiwynk, indignantly. "They'll never see thirteen-three again. "

"They've all been fairly measured, and they've all got theircertificates, " said The Maltese Cat, "or they wouldn't be here. We musttake things as they come along, and keep your eyes on the ball. "

The game began, but this time the Skidars were penned to their own endof the ground, and the watching ponies did not approve of that. 

"Faiz-Ullah is shirking--as usual, " said Polaris, with a scornful grunt. 

"Faiz-Ullah is eating whip, " said Corks. They could hear theleather-thonged polo-quirt lacing the little fellow's well-roundedbarrel. Then The Rabbit's shrill neigh came across the ground. 

"I can't do all the work, " he cried, desperately. 

"Play the game--don't talk, " The Maltese Cat whickered; and all theponies wriggled with excitement, and the soldiers and the grooms grippedthe railings and shouted. A black pony with blinkers had singled out oldBenami, and was interfering with him in every possible way. They couldsee Benami shaking his head up and down, and flapping his under lip. 

"There'll be a fall in a minute, " said Polaris. "Benami is gettingstuffy. "

The game flickered up and down between goal-post and goal-post, and theblack ponies were getting more confident as they felt they had the legsof the others. The ball was hit out of a little scrimmage, and Benamiand The Rabbit followed it, Faiz-Ullah only too glad to be quiet for aninstant. 

The blinkered black pony came up like a hawk, with two of his own sidebehind him, and Benami's eye glittered as he raced. The question waswhich pony should make way for the other, for each rider was perfectlywilling to risk a fall in a good cause. The black, who had been drivennearly crazy by his blinkers, trusted to his weight and his temper; butBenami knew how to apply his weight and how to keep his temper. Theymet, and there was a cloud of dust. The black was lying on his side, allthe breath knocked out of his body. The Rabbit was a hundred yardsup the ground with the ball, and Benami was sitting down. He had slidnearly ten yards on his tail, but he had had his revenge, and satcracking his nostrils till the black pony rose. 

"That's what you get for interfering. Do you want any more?" saidBenami, and he plunged into the game. Nothing was done that quarter, because Faiz-Ullah would not gallop, though Macnamara beat him wheneverhe could spare a second. The fall of the black pony had impressed hiscompanions tremendously, and so the Archangels could not profit byFaiz-Ullah's bad behaviour. 

But as The Maltese Cat said when "time" was called, and the four cameback blowing and dripping, Faiz-Ullah ought to have been kicked allround Umballa. If he did not behave better next time The Maltese Catpromised to pull out his Arab tail by the roots and--eat it. 

There was no time to talk, for the third four were ordered out. 

The third quarter of a game is generally the hottest, for each sidethinks that the others must be pumped; and most of the winning play in agame is made about that time. 

Lutyens took over The Maltese Cat with a pat and a hug, for Lutyensvalued him more than anything else in the world; Powell had Shikast, alittle grey rat with no pedigree and no manners outside polo; Macnamaramounted Bamboo, the largest of the team; and Hughes Who's Who, alias TheAnimal. He was supposed to have Australian blood in his veins, but helooked like a clothes-horse, and you could whack his legs with an ironcrow-bar without hurting him. 

They went out to meet the very flower of the Archangels' team; and whenWho's Who saw their elegantly booted legs and their beautiful satinskins, he grinned a grin through his light, well-worn bridle. 

"My word!" said Who's Who. "We must give 'em a little football. Thesegentlemen need a rubbing down. "

"No biting, " said The Maltese Cat, warningly; for once or twice in hiscareer Who's Who had been known to forget himself in that way. 

"Who said anything about biting? I'm not playing tiddly-winks. I'mplaying the game. "

The Archangels came down like a wolf on the fold, for they were tiredof football, and they wanted polo. They got it more and more. Just afterthe game began, Lutyens hit a ball that was coming towards him rapidly, and it rolled in the air, as a ball sometimes will, with the whirl ofa frightened partridge. Shikast heard, but could not see it for theminute, though he looked everywhere and up into the air as The MalteseCat had taught him. When he saw it ahead and overhead he went forwardwith Powell as fast as he could put foot to ground. It was then thatPowell, a quiet and level-headed man, as a rule, became inspired, and played a stroke that sometimes comes off successfully after longpractice. He took his stick in both hands, and, standing up in hisstirrups, swiped at the ball in the air, Munipore fashion. There was onesecond of paralysed astonishment, and then all four sides of the groundwent up in a yell of applause and delight as the ball flew true (youcould see the amazed Archangels ducking in their saddles to dodge theline of flight, and looking at it with open mouths), and the regimentalpipes of the Skidars squealed from the railings as long as the pipershad breath. Shikast heard the stroke; but he heard the head of the stickfly off at the same time. Nine hundred and ninety-nine ponies out of athousand would have gone tearing on after the ball with a useless playerpulling at their heads; but Powell knew him, and he knew Powell; and theinstant he felt Powell's right leg shift a trifle on the saddle-flap, heheaded to the boundary, where a native officer was frantically waving anew stick. Before the shouts had ended, Powell was armed again. 

Once before in his life The Maltese Cat had heard that very same strokeplayed off his own back, and had profited by the confusion it wrought. This time he acted on experience, and leaving Bamboo to guard the goalin case of accidents, came through the others like a flash, head andtail low--Lutyens standing up to ease him--swept on and on before theother side knew what was the matter, and nearly pitched on his headbetween the Archangels' goal-post as Lutyens kicked the ball in aftera straight scurry of a hundred and fifty yards. If there was one thingmore than another upon which The Maltese Cat prided himself, it was onthis quick, streaking kind of run half across the ground. He didnot believe in taking balls round the field unless you were clearlyovermatched. After this they gave the Archangels five-minuted football;and an expensive fast pony hates football because it rumples his temper. Who's Who showed himself even better than Polaris in this game. He didnot permit any wriggling away, but bored joyfully into the scrimmageas if he had his nose in a feed-box and was looking for something nice. Little Shikast jumped on the ball the minute it got clear, and everytime an Archangel pony followed it, he found Shikast standing over it, asking what was the matter. 

"If we can live through this quarter, " said The Maltese Cat, "I sha'n'tcare. Don't take it out of yourselves. Let them do the lathering. "

So the ponies, as their riders explained afterwards, "shut-up. " TheArchangels kept them tied fast in front of their goal, but it cost theArchangels' ponies all that was left of their tempers; and ponies beganto kick, and men began to repeat compliments, and they chopped at thelegs of Who's Who, and he set his teeth and stayed where he was, andthe dust stood up like a tree over the scrimmage until that hot quarterended. 

They found the ponies very excited and confident when they went to theirsaises; and The Maltese Cat had to warn them that the worst of the gamewas coming. 

"Now we are all going in for the second time, " said he, "and they aretrotting out fresh ponies. You think you can gallop, but you'll find youcan't; and then you'll be sorry. "

"But two goals to nothing is a halter-long lead, " said Kittiwynk, prancing. 

"How long does it take to get a goal?" The Maltese Cat answered. "Forpity's sake, don't run away with a notion that the game is half-won justbecause we happen to be in luck now! They'll ride you into the grandstand, if they can; you must not give 'em a chance. Follow the ball. "

"Football, as usual?" said Polaris. "My hock's half as big as anose-bag. "

"Don't let them have a look at the ball, if you can help it. Now leaveme alone. I must get all the rest I can before the last quarter. "

He hung down his head and let all his muscles go slack, Shikast, Bamboo, and Who's Who copying his example. 

"Better not watch the game, " he said. "We aren't playing, and we shallonly take it out of ourselves if we grow anxious. Look at the ground andpretend it's fly-time. "

They did their best, but it was hard advice to follow. The hooves weredrumming and the sticks were rattling all up and down the ground, andyells of applause from the English troops told that the Archangels werepressing the Skidars hard. The native soldiers behind the ponies groanedand grunted, and said things in undertones, and presently they heard along-drawn shout and a clatter of hurrahs!

"One to the Archangels, " said Shikast, without raising his head. "Time'snearly up. Oh, my sire and dam!"

"Faiz-Ullah, " said The Maltese Cat, "if you don't play to the last nailin your shoes this time, I'll kick you on the ground before all theother ponies. "

"I'll do my best when my time comes, " said the little Arab, sturdily. 

The saises looked at each other gravely as they rubbed their ponies'legs. This was the time when long purses began to tell, and everybodyknew it. Kittiwynk and the others came back, the sweat dripping overtheir hooves and their tails telling sad stories. 

"They're better than we are, " said Shiraz. "I knew how it would be. "

"Shut your big head, " said The Maltese Cat; "we've one goal to the goodyet. "

"Yes; but it's two Arabs and two country-breds to play now, " said Corks. "Faiz-Ullah, remember!" He spoke in a biting voice. 

As Lutyens mounted Grey Dawn he looked at his men, and they did not lookpretty. They were covered with dust and sweat in streaks. Their yellowboots were almost black, their wrists were red and lumpy, and their eyesseemed two inches deep in their heads; but the expression in the eyeswas satisfactory. 

"Did you take anything at tiffin?" said Lutyens; and the team shooktheir heads. They were too dry to talk. 

"All right. The Archangels did. They are worse pumped than we are. "

"They've got the better ponies, " said Powell. "I sha'n't be sorry whenthis business is over. "

That fifth quarter was a painful one in every way. Faiz-Ullah playedlike a little red demon, and The Rabbit seemed to be everywhere at once, and Benami rode straight at anything and everything that came in hisway; while the umpires on their ponies wheeled like gulls outside theshifting game. But the Archangels had the better mounts, --they had kepttheir racers till late in the game, --and never allowed the Skidars toplay football. They hit the ball up and down the width of the groundtill Benami and the rest were outpaced. Then they went forward, and timeand again Lutyens and Grey Dawn were just, and only just, able to sendthe ball away with a long, spitting backhander. Grey Dawn forgot thathe was an Arab; and turned from grey to blue as he galloped. Indeed, heforgot too well, for he did not keep his eyes on the ground as an Arabshould, but stuck out his nose and scuttled for the dear honour of thegame. They had watered the ground once or twice between the quarters, and a careless waterman had emptied the last of his skinful all in oneplace near the Skidars' goal. It was close to the end of the play, andfor the tenth time Grey Dawn was bolting after the ball, when hisnear hind-foot slipped on the greasy mud, and he rolled over andover, pitching Lutyens just clear of the goal-post; and the triumphantArchangels made their goal. Then "time" was called-two goals all; butLutyens had to be helped up, and Grey Dawn rose with his near hind-legstrained somewhere. 

"What's the damage?" said Powell, his arm around Lutyens. 

"Collar-bone, of course, " said Lutyens, between his teeth. It was thethird time he had broken it in two years, and it hurt him. 

Powell and the others whistled. 

"Game's up, " said Hughes. 

"Hold on. We've five good minutes yet, and it isn't my right hand. We'll stick it out. "

"I say, " said the Captain of the Archangels, trotting up, "are youhurt, Lutyens? We'll wait if you care to put in a substitute. I wish--Imean--the fact is, you fellows deserve this game if any team does. 'Wishwe could give you a man, or some of our ponies--or something. "

"You 're awfully good, but we'll play it to a finish, I think. "

The Captain of the Archangels stared for a little. "That's not halfbad, " he said, and went back to his own side, while Lutyens borrowed ascarf from one of his native officers and made a sling of it. Then anArchangel galloped up with a big bath-sponge, and advised Lutyens to putit under his armpit to ease his shoulder, and between them they tiedup his left arm scientifically; and one of the native officers leapedforward with four long glasses that fizzed and bubbled. 

The team looked at Lutyens piteously, and he nodded. It was the lastquarter, and nothing would matter after that. They drank out thedark golden drink, and wiped their moustaches, and things looked morehopeful. 

The Maltese Cat had put his nose into the front of Lutyens' shirt andwas trying to say how sorry he was. 

"He knows, " said Lutyens, proudly. "The beggar knows. I've played himwithout a bridle before now--for fun. "

"It's no fun now, " said Powell. "But we haven't a decent substitute. "

"No, " said Lutyens. "It's the last quarter, and we've got to make ourgoal and win. I'll trust The Cat. "

"If you fall this time, you'll suffer a little, " said Macnamara. 

"I'll trust The Cat, " said Lutyens. 

"You hear that?" said The Maltese Cat, proudly, to the others. "It'sworth while playing polo for ten years to have that said of you. Nowthen, my sons, come along. We'll kick up a little bit, just to show theArchangels this team haven't suffered. "

And, sure enough, as they went on to the ground, The Maltese Cat, aftersatisfying himself that Lutyens was home in the saddle, kicked out threeor four times, and Lutyens laughed. The reins were caught up anyhow inthe tips of his strapped left hand, and he never pretended to rely onthem. He knew The Cat would answer to the least pressure of the leg, andby way of showing off--for his shoulder hurt him very much--he bentthe little fellow in a close figure-of-eight in and out between thegoal-posts. There was a roar from the native officers and men, whodearly loved a piece of dugabashi (horse-trick work), as they called it, and the pipes very quietly and scornfully droned out the first bars ofa common bazaar tune called "Freshly Fresh and Newly New, " just asa warning to the other regiments that the Skidars were fit. All thenatives laughed. 

"And now, " said The Maltese Cat, as they took their place, "rememberthat this is the last quarter, and follow the ball!"

"Don't need to be told, " said Who's Who. 

"Let me go on. All those people on all four sides will begin to crowdin--just as they did at Malta. You'll hear people calling out, andmoving forward and being pushed back; and that is going to make theArchangel ponies very unhappy. But if a ball is struck to the boundary, you go after it, and let the people get out of your way. I went over thepole of a four-in-hand once, and picked a game out of the dust by it. Back me up when I run, and follow the ball. "

There was a sort of an all-round sound of sympathy and wonder as thelast quarter opened, and then there began exactly what The MalteseCat had foreseen. People crowded in close to the boundaries, and theArchangels' ponies kept looking sideways at the narrowing space. If youknow how a man feels to be cramped at tennis--not because he wants torun out of the court, but because he likes to know that he can at apinch--you will guess how ponies must feel when they are playing in abox of human beings. 

"I'll bend some of those men if I can get away, " said Who's Who, as herocketed behind the ball; and Bamboo nodded without speaking. They wereplaying the last ounce in them, and The Maltese Cat had left the goalundefended to join them. Lutyens gave him every order that he couldto bring him back, but this was the first time in his career that thelittle wise grey had ever played polo on his own responsibility, and hewas going to make the most of it. 

"What are you doing here?" said Hughes, as The Cat crossed in front ofhim and rode off an Archangel. 

"The Cat's in charge--mind the goal!" shouted Lutyens, and bowingforward hit the ball full, and followed on, forcing the Archangelstowards their own goal. 

"No football, " said The Maltese Cat. "Keep the ball by the boundariesand cramp 'em. Play open order, and drive 'em to the boundaries. "

Across and across the ground in big diagonals flew the ball, andwhenever it came to a flying rush and a stroke close to the boundariesthe Archangel ponies moved stiffly. They did not care to go headlongat a wall of men and carriages, though if the ground had been open theycould have turned on a sixpence. 

"Wriggle her up the sides, " said The Cat. "Keep her close to the crowd. They hate the carriages. Shikast, keep her up this side. "

Shikast and Powell lay left and right behind the uneasy scuffle of anopen scrimmage, and every time the ball was hit away Shikast gallopedon it at such an angle that Powell was forced to hit it towards theboundary; and when the crowd had been driven away from that side, Lutyens would send the ball over to the other, and Shikast wouldslide desperately after it till his friends came down to help. It wasbilliards, and no football, this time--billiards in a corner pocket; andthe cues were not well chalked. 

"If they get us out in the middle of the ground they'll walk away fromus. Dribble her along the sides, " cried The Maltese Cat. 

So they dribbled all along the boundary, where a pony could not come ontheir right-hand side; and the Archangels were furious, and the umpireshad to neglect the game to shout at the people to get back, and severalblundering mounted policemen tried to restore order, all close to thescrimmage, and the nerves of the Archangels' ponies stretched and brokelike cob-webs. 

Five or six times an Archangel hit the ball up into the middle of theground, and each time the watchful Shikast gave Powell his chance tosend it back, and after each return, when the dust had settled, mencould see that the Skidars had gained a few yards. 

Every now and again there were shouts of "Side! Off side!" from thespectators; but the teams were too busy to care, and the umpires had allthey could do to keep their maddened ponies clear of the scuffle. 

At last Lutyens missed a short easy stroke, and the Skidars had to flyback helter-skelter to protect their own goal, Shikast leading. Powellstopped the ball with a backhander when it was not fifty yards fromthe goalposts, and Shikast spun round with a wrench that nearly hoistedPowell out of his saddle. 

"Now's our last chance, " said The Cat, wheeling like a cockchafer on apin. "We've got to ride it out. Come along. "

Lutyens felt the little chap take a deep breath, and, as it were, crouchunder his rider. The ball was hopping towards the right-hand boundary, an Archangel riding for it with both spurs and a whip; but neither spurnor whip would make his pony stretch himself as he neared the crowd. TheMaltese Cat glided under his very nose, picking up his hind legs sharp, for there was not a foot to spare between his quarters and the otherpony's bit. It was as neat an exhibition as fancy figure-skating. Lutyens hit with all the strength he had left, but the stick slipped alittle in his hand, and the ball flew off to the left instead of keepingclose to the boundary. Who's Who was far across the ground, thinkinghard as he galloped. He repeated stride for stride The Cat's manoeuvreswith another Archangel pony, nipping the ball away from under hisbridle, and clearing his opponent by half a fraction of an inch, forWho's Who was clumsy behind. Then he drove away towards the right asThe Maltese Cat came up from the left; and Bamboo held a middlecourse exactly between them. The three were making a sort ofGovernment-broad-arrow-shaped attack; and there was only the Archangels'back to guard the goal; but immediately behind them were threeArchangels racing all they knew, and mixed up with them was Powellsending Shikast along on what he felt was their last hope. It takes avery good man to stand up to the rush of seven crazy ponies in the lastquarters of a Cup game, when men are riding with their necks for sale, and the ponies are delirious. The Archangels' back missed his stroke andpulled aside just in time to let the rush go by. Bamboo and Who's Whoshortened stride to give The Cat room, and Lutyens got the goal with aclean, smooth, smacking stroke that was heard all over the field. Butthere was no stopping the ponies. They poured through the goalpostsin one mixed mob, winners and losers together, for the pace had beenterrific. The Maltese Cat knew by experience what would happen, and, tosave Lutyens, turned to the right with one last effort, that strained aback-sinew beyond hope of repair. As he did so he heard the right-handgoalpost crack as a pony cannoned into it--crack, splinter and fall likea mast. It had been sawed three parts through in case of accidents, but it upset the pony nevertheless, and he blundered into another, whoblundered into the left-hand post, and then there was confusion and dustand wood. Bamboo was lying on the ground, seeing stars; an Archangelpony rolled beside him, breathless and angry; Shikast had sat downdog-fashion to avoid falling over the others, and was sliding along onhis little bobtail in a cloud of dust; and Powell was sitting on theground, hammering with his stick and trying to cheer. All the otherswere shouting at the top of what was left of their voices, and the menwho had been spilt were shouting too. As soon as the people saw noone was hurt, ten thousand native and English shouted and clapped andyelled, and before any one could stop them the pipers of the Skidarsbroke on to the ground, with all the native officers and men behindthem, and marched up and down, playing a wild Northern tune called"Zakhme Began, " and through the insolent blaring of the pipes and thehigh-pitched native yells you could hear the Archangels' band hammering, "For they are all jolly good fellows, " and then reproachfully to thelosing team, "Ooh, Kafoozalum! Kafoozalum! Kafoozalum!"

Besides all these things and many more, there was a Commander-in-chief, and an Inspector-General of Cavalry, and the principal veterinaryofficer of all India standing on the top of a regimental coach, yellinglike school-boys; and brigadiers and colonels and commissioners, andhundreds of pretty ladies joined the chorus. But The Maltese Cat stoodwith his head down, wondering how many legs were left to him; andLutyens watched the men and ponies pick themselves out of the wreck ofthe two goal-posts, and he patted The Maltese Cat very tenderly. 

"I say, " said the Captain of the Archangels, spitting a pebble out ofhis mouth, "will you take three thousand for that pony--as he stands?"

"No thank you. I've an idea he's saved my life, " said Lutyens, gettingoff and lying down at full length. Both teams were on the ground too, waving their boots in the air, and coughing and drawing deep breaths, as the saises ran up to take away the ponies, and an officiouswater-carrier sprinkled the players with dirty water till they sat up. 

"My aunt!" said Powell, rubbing his back, and looking at the stumps ofthe goal-posts, "That was a game!"

They played it over again, every stroke of it, that night at the bigdinner, when the Free-for-All Cup was filled and passed down the table, and emptied and filled again, and everybody made most eloquent speeches. About two in the morning, when there might have been some singing, awise little, plain little, grey little head looked in through the opendoor. 

"Hurrah! Bring him in, " said the Archangels; and his sais, who was veryhappy indeed, patted The Maltese Cat on the flank, and he limped in tothe blaze of light and the glittering uniforms, looking for Lutyens. Hewas used to messes, and men's bedrooms, and places where ponies are notusually encouraged, and in his youth had jumped on and off a mess-tablefor a bet. So he behaved himself very politely, and ate bread dippedin salt, and was petted all round the table, moving gingerly; and theydrank his health, because he had done more to win the Cup than any manor horse on the ground. 

That was glory and honour enough for the rest of his days, and TheMaltese Cat did not complain much when the veterinary surgeon said thathe would be no good for polo any more. When Lutyens married, his wifedid not allow him to play, so he was forced to be an umpire; and hispony on these occasions was a flea-bitten grey with a neat polo-tail, lame all round, but desperately quick on his feet, and, as everybodyknew, Past Pluperfect Prestissimo Player of the Game. 

"BREAD UPON THE WATERS"

If you remember my improper friend Brugglesmith, you will also bearin mind his friend McPhee, Chief Engineer of the Breslau, whose dingeyBrugglesmith tried to steal. His apologies for the performances ofBrugglesmith may one day be told in their proper place: the tale beforeus concerns McPhee. He was never a racing engineer, and took specialpride in saying as much before the Liverpool men; but he had athirty-two years' knowledge of machinery and the humours of ships. One side of his face had been wrecked through the bursting of apressure-gauge in the days when men knew less than they do now, and hisnose rose grandly out of the wreck, like a club in a public riot. Therewere cuts and lumps on his head, and he would guide your forefingerthrough his short iron-grey hair and tell you how he had come by histrade-marks. He owned all sorts of certificates of extra-competency, and at the bottom of his cabin chest of drawers, where he kept thephotograph of his wife, were two or three Royal Humane Society medalsfor saving lives at sea. Professionally--it was different when crazysteerage-passengers jumped overboard--professionally, McPhee does notapprove of saving life at sea, and he has often told me that a new Hellawaits stokers and trimmers who sign for a strong man's pay and fallsick the second day out. He believes in throwing boots at fourth andfifth engineers when they wake him up at night with word that a bearingis redhot, all because a lamp's glare is reflected red from the twirlingmetal. He believes that there are only two poets in the world; one beingRobert Burns, of course, and the other Gerald Massey. When he hastime for novels he reads Wilkie Collins and Charles Reade chiefly thelatter--and knows whole pages of "Very Hard Cash" by heart. In thesaloon his table is next to the captain's, and he drinks only waterwhile his engines work. 

He was good to me when we first met, because I did not ask questions, and believed in Charles Reade as a most shamefully neglected author. Later he approved of my writings to the extent of one pamphlet oftwenty-four pages that I wrote for Holdock, Steiner & Chase, owners ofthe line, when they bought some ventilating patent and fitted it to thecabins of the Breslau, Spandau, and Koltzau. The purser of the Breslaurecommended me to Holdock's secretary for the job; and Holdock, who is aWesleyan Methodist, invited me to his house, and gave me dinner withthe governess when the others had finished, and placed the plans andspecifications in my hand, and I wrote the pamphlet that same afternoon. It was called "Comfort in the Cabin, " and brought me seven pound ten, cash down--an important sum of money in those days; and the governess, who was teaching Master John Holdock his scales, told me that Mrs. Holdock had told her to keep an eye on me, in case I went away withcoats from the hat-rack. McPhee liked that pamphlet enormously, for itwas composed in the Bouverie-Byzantine style, with baroque and rococoembellishments; and afterwards he introduced me to Mrs. McPhee, whosucceeded Dinah in my heart; for Dinah was half a world away, and itis wholesome and antiseptic to love such a woman as Janet McPhee. Theylived in a little twelve-pound house, close to the shipping. When McPheewas away Mrs. McPhee read the Lloyds column in the papers, and called onthe wives of senior engineers of equal social standing. Once or twice, too, Mrs. Holdock visited Mrs. McPhee in a brougham with celluloidfittings, and I have reason to believe that, after she had playedowner's wife long enough, they talked scandal. The Holdocks lived in anold-fashioned house with a big brick garden not a mile from the McPhees, for they stayed by their money as their money stayed by them; and insummer you met their brougham solemnly junketing by Theydon Bois orLoughton. But I was Mrs. McPhee's friend, for she allowed me to convoyher westward, sometimes, to theatres where she sobbed or laughed orshivered with a simple heart; and she introduced me to a new world ofdoctors' wives, captains' wives, and engineers' wives, whose whole talkand thought centred in and about ships and lines of ships you have neverheard of. There were sailing-ships, with stewards and mahogany andmaple saloons, trading to Australia, taking cargoes of consumptives andhopeless drunkards for whom a sea-voyage was recommended; there werefrowzy little West African boats, full of rats and cockroaches, wheremen died anywhere but in their bunks; there were Brazilian boats whosecabins could be hired for merchandise, that went out loaded nearlyawash; there were Zanzibar and Mauritius steamers and wonderfulreconstructed boats that plied to the other tide of Borneo. These wereloved and known, for they earned our bread and a little butter, and wedespised the big Atlantic boats, and made fun of the P. & O. And Orientliners, and swore by our respective owners--Wesleyan, Baptist, orPresbyterian, as the case might be. 

I had only just come back to England when Mrs. McPhee invited me todinner at three o'clock in the afternoon, and the notepaper was almostbridal in its scented creaminess. When I reached the house I saw thatthere were new curtains in the window that must have cost forty-fiveshillings a pair; and as Mrs. McPhee drew me into the littlemarble-papered hall, she looked at me keenly, and cried:

"Have ye not heard? What d' ye think o' the hatrack?"

Now, that hat-rack was oak-thirty shillings, at least. McPhee camedown-stairs with a sober foot--he steps as lightly as a cat, for all hisweight, when he is at sea--and shook hands in a new and awful manner--aparody of old Holdock's style when he says good-bye to his skippers. Iperceived at once that a legacy had come to him, but I held my peace, though Mrs. McPhee begged me every thirty seconds to eat a great dealand say nothing. It was rather a mad sort of meal, because McPhee andhis wife took hold of hands like little children (they always do aftervoyages), and nodded and winked and choked and gurgled, and hardly ate amouthful. 

A female servant came in and waited; though Mrs. McPhee had told me timeand again that she would thank no one to do her housework while she hadher health. But this was a servant with a cap, and I saw Mrs. McPheeswell and swell under her garance-coloured gown. There is no smallfree-board to Janet McPhee, nor is garance any subdued tint; and withall this unexplained pride and glory in the air I felt like watchingfireworks without knowing the festival. When the maid had removed thecloth she brought a pineapple that would have cost half a guinea at thatseason (only McPhee has his own way of getting such things), and a Cantonchina bowl of dried lichis, and a glass plate of preserved ginger, anda small jar of sacred and Imperial chow-chow that perfumed the room. McPhee gets it from a Dutchman in Java, and I think he doctors it withliqueurs. But the crown of the feast was some Madeira of the kindyou can only come by if you know the wine and the man. A littlemaize-wrapped fig of clotted Madeira cigars went with the wine, and therest was a pale blue smoky silence; Janet, in her splendour, smiling onus two, and patting McPhee's hand. 

"We'll drink, " said McPhee, slowly, rubbing his chin, "to the eternaldamnation o' Holdock, Steiner & Chase. "

Of course I answered "Amen, " though I had made seven pound ten shillingsout of the firm. McPhee's enemies were mine, and I was drinking hisMadeira. 

"Ye've heard nothing?" said Janet. "Not a word, not a whisper?"

"Not a word, nor a whisper. On my word, I have not. "

"Tell him, Mac, " said she; and that is another proof of Janet's goodnessand wifely love. A smaller woman would have babbled first, but Janet isfive feet nine in her stockings. 

"We're rich, " said McPhee. I shook hands all round. 

"We're damned rich, " he added. I shook hands all round a second time. 

"I'll go to sea no more--unless--there's no sayin'--a private yacht, maybe--wi' a small an' handy auxiliary. "

"It's not enough for that, " said Janet. "We're fair rich--well-to-do, but no more. A new gown for church, and one for the theatre. We'll haveit made west. "

"How much is it?" I asked. 

"Twenty-five thousand pounds. " I drew a long breath. "An' I've beenearnin' twenty-five an' twenty pound a month!"

The last words came away with a roar, as though the wide world wasconspiring to beat him down. 

"All this time I'm waiting, " I said. "I know nothing since lastSeptember. Was it left you?"

They laughed aloud together. "It was left, " said McPhee, choking. "Ou, ay, it was left. That's vara good. Of course it was left. Janet, d' yenote that? It was left. Now if you'd put that in your pamphlet it wouldhave been vara jocose. It was left. " He slapped his thigh and roaredtill the wine quivered in the decanter. 

The Scotch are a great people, but they are apt to hang over a joke toolong, particularly when no one can see the point but themselves. 

"When I rewrite my pamphlet I'll put it in, McPhee. Only I must knowsomething more first. "

McPhee thought for the length of half a cigar, while Janet caught myeye and led it round the room to one new thing after another--the newvine-pattern carpet, the new chiming rustic clock between the modelsof the Colombo outrigger-boats, the new inlaid sideboard with a purplecut-glass flower-stand, the fender of gilt and brass, and last, the newblack-and-gold piano. 

"In October o' last year the Board sacked me, " began McPhee. "In Octobero' last year the Breslau came in for winter overhaul. She'd been runnin'eight months--two hunder an' forty days--an' I was three days makin' upmy indents, when she went to dry-dock. All told, mark you, it was thisside o' three hunder pound--to be preceese, two hunder an' eighty-sixpound four shillings. There's not another man could ha' nursed theBreslau for eight months to that tune. Never again--never again! Theymay send their boats to the bottom, for aught I care. "

"There's no need, " said Janet, softly. "We're done wi' Holdock, Steiner& Chase. "

"It's irritatin', Janet, it's just irritatin'. I ha' been justifiedfrom first to last, as the world knows, but--but I canna forgie 'em. Ay, wisdom is justified o' her children; an' any other man than me wad ha'made the indent eight hunder. Hay was our skipper--ye'll have met him. They shifted him to the Torgau, an' bade me wait for the Breslau underyoung Bannister. Ye'll obsairve there'd been a new election on theBoard. I heard the shares were sellin' hither an' yon, an' the majorpart of the Board was new to me. The old Board would ne'er ha' done it. They trusted me. But the new Board were all for reorganisation. YoungSteiner--Steiner's son--the Jew, was at the bottom of it, an' they didnot think it worth their while to send me word. The first I knew--an'I was Chief Engineer--was the notice of the line's winter sailin's, andthe Breslau timed for sixteen days between port an' port! Sixteen days, man! She's a good boat, but eighteen is her summer time, mark you. Sixteen was sheer flytin', kitin' nonsense, an' so I told youngBannister. 

"We've got to make it, ' he said. 'Ye should not ha' sent in a threehunder pound indent. '

"Do they look for their boats to be run on air?' I said. 'The Board'sdaft. '

"'E'en tell 'em so, ' he says. 'I'm a married man, an' my fourth's on theways now, she says. '"

"A boy--wi' red hair, " Janet put in. Her own hair is the splendidred-gold that goes with a creamy complexion. 

"My word, I was an angry man that day! Forbye I was fond o' the oldBreslau, I looked for a little consideration from the Board aftertwenty years' service. There was Board-meetin' on Wednesday, an' I sleptovernight in the engine-room, takin' figures to support my case. Well, I put it fair and square before them all. 'Gentlemen, ' I said, 'I've runthe Breslau eight seasons, an' I believe there's no fault to find wi' mywark. But if ye haud to this'--I waggled the advertisement at 'em--'thisthat I've never heard of it till I read it at breakfast, I do assure youon my professional reputation, she can never do it. That is to say, shecan for a while, but at a risk no thinkin' man would run. '

"'What the deil d' ye suppose we pass your indents for?' says oldHoldock. 'Man, we're spendin' money like watter. '

"'I'll leave it in the Board's hands, ' I said, 'if two hunder an'eighty-seven pound is anything beyond right and reason for eightmonths. ' I might ha' saved my breath, for the Board was new sincethe last election, an' there they sat, the damned deevidend-huntin'ship-chandlers, deaf as the adders o' Scripture. 

"'We must keep faith wi' the public, ' said young Steiner. 

"'Keep faith wi' the Breslau, then, ' I said. 'She's served you well, an' your father before you. She'll need her bottom restiffenin', an'new bed-plates, an' turnin' out the forward boilers, an' re-turnin' allthree cylinders, an' refacin' all guides, to begin with. It's a threemonths' job. '

"'Because one employee is afraid? 'says young Steiner. 'Maybe a piano inthe Chief Engineer's cabin would be more to the point. '

"I crushed my cap in my hands, an' thanked God we'd no bairns an' a bitput by. 

"'Understand, gentlemen, ' I said. 'If the Breslau is made a sixteen-dayboat, ye'll find another engineer. '

"'Bannister makes no objection, ' said Holdock. 

"'I'm speakin' for myself, ' I said. 'Bannister has bairns. 'An' thenI lost my temper. 'Ye can run her into Hell an' out again if ye paypilotage, ' I said, 'but ye run without me. '

"'That's insolence, ' said young Steiner. 

"'At your pleasure, ' I said, turnin' to go. 

"'Ye can consider yourself dismissed. We must preserve discipline amongour employees, ' said old Holdock, an' he looked round to see that theBoard was with him. They knew nothin'--God forgie 'em--an' they noddedme out o' the line after twenty years--after twenty years. 

"I went out an' sat down by the hall porter to get my wits again. I'mthinkin' I swore at the Board. Then auld McRimmon--o' McNaughten &McRimmon--came, oot o' his office, that's on the same floor, an' lookedat me, proppin' up one eyelid wi' his forefinger. Ye know they call himthe Blind Deevil, forbye he onythin' but blind, an' no deevil in hisdealin's wi' me--McRimmon o' the Black Bird Line. 

"'What's here, Mister McPhee?' said he. 

"I was past prayin' for by then. 'A Chief Engineer sacked after twentyyears' service because he'll not risk the Breslau on the new timin', an'be damned to ye, McRimmon, ' I said. 

"The auld man sucked in his lips an' whistled. 'AH, ' said he, 'the newtimin'. I see!' He doddered into the Board-room I'd just left, an' theDandie-dog that is just his blind man's leader stayed wi' me. That wasprovidential. In a minute he was back again. 'Ye've cast your bread onthe watter, McPhee, an' be damned to you, ' he says. 'Whaur's my dog? Myword, is he on your knee? There's more discernment in a dog than a Jew. What garred ye curse your Board, McPhee? It's expensive. '

"'They'll pay more for the Breslau, ' I said. 'Get off my knee, yesmotherin' beast. '

"'Bearin's hot, eh?' said McRimmon. 'It's thirty year since a man daurcurse me to my face. Time was I'd ha' cast ye doon the stairway forthat. '

"'Forgie's all!' I said. He was wearin' to eighty, as I knew. 'I waswrong, McRimmon; but when a man's shown the door for doin' his plainduty he's not always ceevil. '

"'So I hear, ' says McRimmon. 'Ha' ye ony objection to a tramp freighter?It's only fifteen a month, but they say the Blind Deevil feeds a manbetter than others. She's my Kite. Come ben. Ye can thank Dandie, here. I'm no used to thanks. An' noo, ' says he, 'what possessed ye to throw upyour berth wi' Holdock?'

"'The new timin', ' said I. 'The Breslau will not stand it. '

"'Hoot, oot, ' said he. 'Ye might ha' crammed her a little--enough toshow ye were drivin' her--an' brought her in twa days behind. What'seasier than to say ye slowed for bearin's, eh? All my men do it, and--Ibelieve 'em. '

"'McRimmon, ' says I, 'what's her virginity to a lassie?'

"He puckered his dry face an' twisted in his chair. 'The warld an' a', 'says he. 'My God, the vara warld an' a' (But what ha' you or me to dowi' virginity, this late along?)'

"'This, ' I said. 'There's just one thing that each one of us in histrade or profession will not do for ony consideration whatever. If I runto time I run to time barrio' always the risks o' the high seas. Lessthan that, under God, I have not done. More than that, by God, I willnot do! There's no trick o' the trade I'm not acquaint wi'--'

"'So I've heard, ' says McRimmon, dry as a biscuit. 

"'But yon matter o' fair rennin' s just my Shekinah, ye'll understand. Idaurna tamper wi' that. Nursing weak engines is fair craftsmanship;but what the Board ask is cheatin', wi' the risk o' manslaughteraddeetional. ' Ye'll note I know my business. 

"There was some more talk, an' next week I went aboard the Kite, twenty-five hunder ton, simple compound, a Black Bird tramp. The deepershe rode, the better she'd steam. I've snapped as much as eleven out ofher, but eight point three was her fair normal. Good food forward an'better aft, all indents passed wi'out marginal remarks, the best coal, new donkeys, and good crews. There was nothin' the old man would not do, except paint. That was his deeficulty. Ye could no more draw paint thanhis last teeth from him. He'd come down to dock, an' his boats a scandalall along the watter, an' he'd whine an' cry an' say they looked all hecould desire. Every owner has his non plus ultra, I've obsairved. Paintwas McRimmon's. But you could get round his engines without riskin'your life, an', for all his blindness, I've seen him reject fiveflawed intermediates, one after the other, on a nod from me; an' hiscattle-fittin's were guaranteed for North Atlantic winter weather. Yeken what that means? McRimmon an' the Black Bird Line, God bless him!

"Oh, I forgot to say she would lie down an' fill her forward deck green, an' snore away into a twenty-knot gale forty-five to the minute, threean' a half knots an hour, the engines runnin' sweet an' true as a bairnbreathin' in its sleep. Bell was skipper; an' forbye there's no lovelost between crews an' owners, we were fond o' the auld Blind Deevil an'his dog, an' I'm thinkin' he liked us. He was worth the windy side o'twa million sterlin', an' no friend to his own blood-kin. Money's anawfu' thing--overmuch--for a lonely man. 

"I'd taken her out twice, there an' back again, when word came o' theBreslau's breakdown, just as I prophesied. Calder was her engineer--he'snot fit to run a tug down the Solent--and he fairly lifted the enginesoff the bed-plates, an' they fell down in heaps, by what I heard. Soshe filled from the after stuffin'-box to the after bulkhead, an' laystar-gazing, with seventy-nine squealin' passengers in the saloon, tillthe Camaralzaman o' Ramsey & Gold's Cartagena line gave her a tow tothe tune o' five thousand seven hunder an' forty pound, wi' costs in theAdmiralty Court. She was helpless, ye'll understand, an' in no caseto meet ony weather. Five thousand seven hunder an' forty pounds, withcosts, an' exclusive o' new engines! They'd ha' done better to ha' keptme on the old timin'. 

"But, even so, the new Board were all for retrenchment. Young Steiner, the Jew, was at the bottom of it. They sacked men right an' left, thatwould not eat the dirt the Board gave 'em. They cut down repairs;they fed crews wi' leavin's an' scrapin's; and, reversin', McRimmon'spractice, they hid their defeeciencies wi' paint an' cheap gildin'. QuemDeus vult perrdere prrius dementat, ye remember. 

"In January we went to dry-dock, an' in the next dock lay the Grotkau, their big freighter that was the Dolabella o' Piegan, Piegan & Walsh'sline in '84--a Clyde-built iron boat, a flat-bottomed, pigeon-breasted, under-engined, bull-nosed bitch of a five thousand ton freighter, thatwould neither steer, nor steam, nor stop when ye asked her. Whilesshe'd attend to her helm, whiles she'd take charge, whiles she'd wait toscratch herself, an' whiles she'd buttock into a dockhead. But Holdockand Steiner had bought her cheap, and painted her all over like the Hooro' Babylon, an' we called her the Hoor for short. " (By the way, McPheekept to that name throughout the rest of his tale; so you must readaccordingly. ) "I went to see young Bannister--he had to take what theBoard gave him, an' he an' Calder were shifted together from the Breslauto this abortion--an' talkin' to him I went into the dock under her. Her plates were pitted till the men that were paint, paint, paintin' herlaughed at it. But the warst was at the last. She'd a great clumsy irontwelve-foot Thresher propeller--Aitcheson designed the Kites'--and juston the tail o' the shaft, behind the boss, was a red weepin' crack yecould ha' put a penknife to. Man, it was an awful crack!

"'When d' ye ship a new tail-shaft?' I said to Bannister. 

"He knew what I meant. 'Oh, yon's a superfeecial flaw, ' says he, notlookin' at me. 

"'Superfeecial Gehenna!' I said. 'Ye'll not take her oot wi' a solutiono' continuity that like. '

"'They'll putty it up this evening, ' he said. 'I'm a married man, an'--ye used to know the Board. '

"I e'en said what was gied me in that hour. Ye know how a drydockechoes. I saw young Steiner standin' listenin' above me, an', man, heused language provocative of a breach o' the peace. I was a spy and adisgraced employ, an' a corrupter o' young Bannister's morals, an' he'dprosecute me for libel. He went away when I ran up the steps--I'd ha'thrown him into the dock if I'd caught him--an' there I met McRimmon, wi' Dandie pullin' on the chain, guidin' the auld man among the railwaylines. 

"'McPhee, ' said he, 'ye're no paid to fight Holdock, Steiner, Chase &Company, Limited, when ye meet. What's wrong between you?'

"'No more than a tail-shaft rotten as a kail-stump. For ony sakes go an'look, McRimmon. It's a comedietta. '

"'I'm feared o' yon conversational Hebrew, ' said he. 'Whaur's the flaw, an' what like?'

"'A seven-inch crack just behind the boss. There's no power on earthwill fend it just jarrin' off. '

"'When?'

"'That's beyon' my knowledge, ' I said. 

"'So it is; so it is, ' said McRimmon. 'We've all oor leemitations. Ye'recertain it was a crack?'

"'Man, it's a crevasse, ' I said, for there were no words to describethe magnitude of it. 'An' young Bannister's sayin' it's no more than asuperfeecial flaw!'

"'Weell, I tak' it oor business is to mind oor business. If ye'veony friends aboard her, McPhee, why not bid them to a bit dinner atRadley's?'

"'I was thinkin' o' tea in the cuddy, ' I said. 'Engineers o' trampfreighters cannot afford hotel prices. '

"'Na! na!' says the auld man, whimperin'. 'Not the cuddy. They'll laughat my Kite, for she's no plastered with paint like the Hoor. Bid them toRadley's, McPhee, an' send me the bill. Thank Dandie, here, man. I'm noused to thanks. ' Then he turned him round. (I was just thinkin' the varasame thing. ) 'Mister McPhee, ' said he, 'this is not senile dementia. '

"'Preserve 's!' I said, clean jumped oot o' mysel'. 'I was but thinkin'you're fey, McRimmon. '

"Dod, the auld deevil laughed till he nigh sat down on Dandie. 'Send methe bill, ' says he. 'I'm long past champagne, but tell me how it tastesthe morn. '

"Bell and I bid young Bannister and Calder to dinner at Radley's. They'll have no laughin' an' singin' there, but we took a privateroom--like yacht-owners fra' Cowes. "

McPhee grinned all over, and lay back to think. 

"And then?" said I. 

"We were no drunk in ony preceese sense o' the word, but Radley's showedme the dead men. There were six magnums o' dry champagne an' maybe abottle o' whisky. "

"Do you mean to tell me that you four got away with a magnum and a halfa piece, besides whisky?" I demanded. 

McPhee looked down upon me from between his shoulders with toleration. 

"Man, we were not settin' down to drink, " he said. "They no more thanmade us wutty. To be sure, young Bannister laid his head on the tablean' greeted like a bairn, an' Calder was all for callin' on Steiner attwo in the morn an' painting him galley-green; but they'd been drinkin'the afternoon. Lord, how they twa cursed the Board, an' the Grotkau, an'the tail-shaft, an' the engines, an' a'! They didna talk o' superfeecialflaws that night. I mind young Bannister an' Calder shakin' hands ona bond to be revenged on the Board at ony reasonable cost this side o'losing their certificates. Now mark ye how false economy ruins business. The Board fed them like swine (I have good reason to know it), an' I'veobsairved wi' my ain people that if ye touch his stomach ye wauken thedeil in a Scot. Men will tak' a dredger across the Atlantic if they 'rewell fed, an' fetch her somewhere on the broadside o' the Americas; butbad food's bad service the warld over. 

"The bill went to McRimmon, an' he said no more to me till the week-end, when I was at him for more paint, for we'd heard the Kite was charteredLiverpool-side. 'Bide whaur ye're put, ' said the Blind Deevil. 'Man, doye wash in champagne? The Kite's no leavin' here till I gie the order, an'--how am I to waste paint onher, wi' the Lammergeyer docked for whoknows how long an' a'?'

"She was our big freighter--McIntyre was engineer--an' I knew she'dcome from overhaul not three months. That morn I met McRimmon'shead-clerk--ye'll not know him--fair bitin' his nails off wi'mortification. 

"'The auld man's gone gyte, ' says he. 'He's withdrawn the Lammergeyer. '

"'Maybe he has reasons, ' says I. 

"'Reasons! He's daft!'

"'He'll no be daft till he begins to paint, ' I said. 

"'That's just what he's done--and South American freights higher thanwe'll live to see them again. He's laid her up to paint her--to painther--to paint her!' says the little clerk, dancin' like a hen on a hotplate. 'Five thousand ton o' potential freight rottin' in drydock, man;an' he dolin' the paint out in quarter-pound tins, for it cuts himto the heart, mad though he is. An' the Grotkau--the Grotkau of allconceivable bottoms--soaking up every pound that should be ours atLiverpool!'

"I was staggered wi' this folly--considerin' the dinner at Radley's inconnection wi' the same. 

"Ye may well stare, McPhee, ' says the head-clerk. 'There's engines, an'rollin' stock, an' iron bridgesd' ye know what freights are noo? an'pianos, an' millinery, an' fancy Brazil cargo o' every speciespourin' into the Grotkau--the Grotkau o' the Jerusalem firm--and theLammergeyer's bein' painted!'

"Losh, I thought he'd drop dead wi' the fits. 

"I could say no more than 'Obey orders, if ye break owners, ' but on theKite we believed McRimmon was mad; an' McIntyre of the Lammergeyer wasfor lockin' him up by some patent legal process he'd found in a book o'maritime law. An' a' that week South American freights rose an' rose. Itwas sinfu'!

"Syne Bell got orders to tak' the Kite round to Liverpool inwater-ballast, and McRimmon came to bid's good-bye, yammerin' an'whinin' o'er the acres o' paint he'd lavished on the Lammergeyer. 

"'I look to you to retrieve it, ' says he. 'I look to you to reimburseme! 'Fore God, why are ye not cast off? Are ye dawdlin' in dock for apurpose?'

"'What odds, McRimmon?' says Bell. 'We'll be a day behind the fair atLiverpool. The Grotkau's got all the freight that might ha' been oursan' the Lammergeyer's. ' McRimmon laughed an' chuckled--the pairfecteemage o' senile dementia. Ye ken his eyebrows wark up an' down like agorilla's. 

"'Ye're under sealed orders, ' said he, tee-heein' an' scratchin'himself. 'Yon's they'--to be opened seriatim. 

"Says Bell, shufflin' the envelopes when the auld man had gone ashore:'We're to creep round a' the south coast, standin' in for orders hisweather, too. There's no question o' his lunacy now. '

"Well, we buttocked the auld Kite along--vara bad weather wemade--standin' in all alongside for telegraphic orders, which are thecurse o' skippers. Syne we made over to Holyhead, an' Bell opened thelast envelope for the last instructions. I was wi' him in the cuddy, an'he threw it over to me, cryin': 'Did ye ever know the like, Mac?'

"I'll no say what McRimmon had written, but he was far from mad. Therewas a sou'wester brewin' when we made the mouth o' the Mersey, a bittercold morn wi' a grey-green sea and a grey-green sky--Liverpool weather, as they say; an' there we lay choppin', an' the crew swore. Ye cannakeep secrets aboard ship. They thought McRimmon was mad, too. 

"Syne we saw the Grotkau rollin' oot on the top o' flood, deep an'double deep, wi' her new-painted funnel an' her new-painted boats an'a'. She looked her name, an', moreover, she coughed like it. Caldertauld me at Radley's what ailed his engines, but my own ear would ha'told me twa mile awa', by the beat o' them. Round we came, plungin' an'squatterin' in her wake, an' the wind cut wi' good promise o' more tocome. By six it blew hard but clear, an' before the middle watch it wasa sou'wester in airnest. 

"'She'll edge into Ireland, this gait, ' says Bell. I was with him on thebridge, watchin' the Grotkau's port light. Ye canna see green so far asred, or we'd ha' kept to leeward. We'd no passengers to consider, an'(all eyes being on the Grotkau) we fair walked into a liner rampin' hometo Liverpool. Or, to be preceese, Bell no more than twisted the Kiteoot from under her bows, and there was a little damnin' betwix' the twabridges. "Noo a passenger"--McPhee regarded me benignantly--"wad ha'told the papers that as soon as he got to the Customs. We stuck to theGrotkau's tail that night an' the next twa days--she slowed down to fiveknot by my reckonin' and we lapped along the weary way to the Fastnet. "

"But you don't go by the Fastnet to get to any South American port, doyou?" I said. 

"We do not. We prefer to go as direct as may be. But we were followin'the Grotkau, an' she'd no walk into that gale for ony consideration. Knowin' what I did to her discredit, I couldna blame young Bannister. It was warkin' up to a North Atlantic winter gale, snow an' sleet an' aperishin' wind. Eh, it was like the Deil walkin' abroad o' the surfaceo' the deep, whuppin' off the top o' the waves before he made up hismind. They'd bore up against it so far, but the minute she was clearo' the Skelligs she fair tucked up her skirts an' ran for it by DunmoreHead. Wow, she rolled!

"'She'll be makin' Smerwick, ' says Bell. 

"She'd ha' tried for Ventry by noo if she meant that, ' I said. 

"'They'll roll the funnel oot o' her, this gait, ' says Bell. 'Why cannaBannister keep her head to sea?'

"It's the tail-shaft. Ony rollin''s better than pitchin' wi'superfeecial cracks in the tail-shaft. Calder knows that much, ' I said. 

"'It's ill wark retreevin' steamers this weather, ' said Bell. His beardand whiskers were frozen to his oilskin, an' the spray was white on theweather side of him. Pairfect North Atlantic winter weather!

"One by one the sea raxed away our three boats, an' the davits werecrumpled like ram's horns. 

"'Yon's bad, ' said Bell, at the last. 'Ye canna pass a hawser wi'oot aboat. ' Bell was a vara judeecious man--for an Aberdonian. 

"I'm not one that fashes himself for eventualities outside theengine-room, so I e'en slipped down betwixt waves to see how the Kitefared. Man, she's the best geared boat of her class that ever leftClyde! Kinloch, my second, knew her as well as I did. I found him dryin'his socks on the main-steam, an' combin' his whiskers wi' the comb Janetgied me last year, for the warld an' a' as though we were in port. Itried the feed, speered into the stoke-hole, thumbed all bearin's, spaton the thrust for luck, gied 'em my blessin', an' took Kinloch's socksbefore I went up to the bridge again. 

"Then Bell handed me the wheel, an' went below to warm himself. When hecame up my gloves were frozen to the spokes an' the ice clicked over myeyelids. Pairfect North Atlantic winter weather, as I was sayin'. 

"The gale blew out by night, but we lay in smotherin' cross-seas thatmade the auld Kite chatter from stem to stern. I slowed to thirty-four, I mind--no, thirty-seven. There was a long swell the morn, an' theGrotkau was headin' into it west awa'. 

"'She'll win to Rio yet, tail-shaft or no tail-shaft, ' says Bell. 

"'Last night shook her, ' I said. 'She'll jar it off yet, mark my word. '

"We were then, maybe, a hunder and fifty mile westsou'west o' SlyneHead, by dead reckonin'. Next day we made a hunder an' thirty--ye'llnote we were not racin-boats--an' the day after a hunder an' sixty-one, an' that made us, we'll say, Eighteen an' a bittock west, an' maybeFifty-one an' a bittock north, crossin' all the North Atlantic linerlanes on the long slant, always in sight o' the Grotkau, creepin' up bynight and fallin' awa' by day. After the gale it was cold weather wi'dark nights. 

"I was in the engine-room on Friday night, just before the middle watch, when Bell whustled down the tube: 'She's done it'; an' up I came. 

"The Grotkau was just a fair distance south, an' one by one she ran upthe three red lights in a vertical line--the sign of a steamer not undercontrol. 

"'Yon's a tow for us, ' said Bell, lickin' his chops. 'She'll be worthmore than the Breslau. We'll go down to her, McPhee!'

"'Bide a while, ' I said. 'The seas fair throng wi' ships here. '

"'Reason why, ' said Bell. 'It's a fortune gaun beggin'. What d' yethink, man?'

"'Gie her till daylight. She knows we're here. If Bannister needs helphe'll loose a rocket. '

"'Wha told ye Bannister's need? We'll ha' some rag-an'-bone trampsnappin' her up under oor nose, ' said he; an' he put the wheel over. Wewere goin' slow. 

"'Bannister wad like better to go home on a liner an' eat in thesaloon. Mind ye what they said o' Holdock & Steiner's food that nightat Radley's? Keep her awa', man--keep her awa'. A tow's a tow, but aderelict's big salvage. '

"'E-eh! 'said Bell. 'Yon's an inshot o' yours, Mac. I love ye like abrother. We'll bide whaur we are till daylight'; an' he kept her awa'. 

"Syne up went a rocket forward, an' twa on the bridge, an' a blue lightaft. Syne a tar-barrel forward again. 

"'She's sinkin', ' said Bell. 'It's all gaun, an' I'll get no more than apair o' night-glasses for pickin' up young Bannister--the fool!'

"' Fair an' soft again, ' I said. 'She's signallin' to the south of us. Bannister knows as well as I that one rocket would bring the Breslau. He'll no be wastin' fireworks for nothin'. Hear her ca'!'

"The Grotkau whustled an' whustled for five minutes, an' then there weremore fireworks--a regular exhibeetion. 

"'That's no for men in the regular trade, ' says Bell. 'Ye're right, Mac. That's for a cuddy full o' passengers. ' He blinked through thenight-glasses when it lay a bit thick to southward. 

"'What d' ye make of it?' I said. 

"'Liner, ' he says. 'Yon's her rocket. Ou, ay; they've waukened thegold-strapped skipper, an'--noo they've waukened the passengers. They'returnin' on the electrics, cabin by cabin. Yon's anither rocket! They'recomin' up to help the perishin' in deep watters. '

"'Gie me the glass, ' I said. But Bell danced on the bridge, cleandementit. 'Mails-mails-mails!' said he. 'Under contract wi' theGovernment for the due conveyance o' the mails; an' as such, Mac, yellnote, she may rescue life at sea, but she canna tow!--she canna tow!Yon's her night-signal. She'll be up in half an hour!'

"'Gowk!' I said, 'an' we blazin' here wi' all oor lights. Oh, Bell, ye're a fool!'

"He tumbled off the bridge forward, an' I tumbled aft, an' before yecould wink our lights were oot, the engine-room hatch was covered, an'we lay pitch-dark, watchin' the lights o' the liner come up that theGrotkau'd been signallin' to. Twenty knot an hour she came, every cabinlighted, an' her boats swung awa'. It was grandly done, an' in theinside of an hour. She stopped like Mrs. Holdock's machine; down wentthe gangway, down went the boats, an' in ten minutes we heard thepassengers cheerin', an' awa' she fled. 

"'They'll tell o' this all the days they live, ' said Bell. 'A rescue atsea by night, as pretty as a play. Young Bannister an' Calder will bedrinkin' in the saloon, an' six months hence the Board o' Trade 'll giethe skipper a pair o' binoculars. It's vara philanthropic all round. '

"We'll lay by till day--ye may think we waited for it wi' sore eyes an'there sat the Grotkau, her nose a bit cocked, just leerin' at us. Shelooked paifectly ridiculous. 

"'She'll be fillin' aft, ' says Bell; 'for why is she down by the stern?The tail-shaft's punched a hole in her, an'--we 've no boats. There'sthree hunder thousand pound sterlin', at a conservative estimate, droonin' before our eyes. What's to do?' An' his bearin's got hot againin a minute: he was an incontinent man. 

"'Run her as near as ye daur, ' I said. 'Gie me a jacket an' a lifeline, an' I'll swum for it. ' There was a bit lump of a sea, an' it was coldin the wind--vara cold; but they'd gone overside like passengers, youngBannister an' Calder an' a', leaving the gangway down on the lee-side. It would ha' been a flyin' in the face o' manifest Providence tooverlook the invitation. We were within fifty yards o' her while Kinlochwas garmin' me all over wi' oil behind the galley; an' as we ran pastI went outboard for the salvage o' three hunder thousand pound. Man, itwas perishin' cold, but I'd done my job judgmatically, an' came scrapin'all along her side slap on to the lower gratin' o' the gangway. No onemore astonished than me, I assure ye. Before I'd caught my breath I'dskinned both my knees on the gratin', an' was climbin' up before sherolled again. I made my line fast to the rail, an' squattered aft toyoung Bannister's cabin, whaaur I dried me wi' everything in his bunk, an' put on every conceivable sort o' rig I found till the blood wascirculatin'. Three pair drawers, I mind I found--to begin upon--an'I needed them all. It was the coldest cold I remember in all myexperience. 

"Syne I went aft to the engine-room. The Grotkau sat on her own tail, asthey say. She was vara shortshafted, an' her gear was all aft. There wasfour or five foot o' water in the engine-room slummockin' to and fro, black an' greasy; maybe there was six foot. The stoke-hold doors werescrewed home, an' the stoke-hold was tight enough, but for a minute themess in the engine-room deceived me. Only for a minute, though, an' thatwas because I was not, in a manner o' speakin', as calm as ordinar'. Ilooked again to mak' sure. 'T was just black wi' bilge: dead watter thatmust ha' come in fortuitously, ye ken. "

"McPhee, I'm only a passenger, " I said, "but you don't persuade me thatsix foot o' water can come into an engine-room fortuitously. "

"Who's tryin' to persuade one way or the other?" McPhee retorted. "I'mstatin' the facts o' the case--the simple, natural facts. Six or sevenfoot o' dead watter in the engine-room is a vara depressin' sight if yethink there's like to be more comin'; but I did not consider that suchwas likely, and so, yell note, I was not depressed. "

"That's all very well, but I want to know about the water, " I said. 

"I've told ye. There was six feet or more there, wi' Calder's capfloatin' on top. "

"Where did it come from?"

"Weel, in the confusion o' things after the propeller had dropped offan' the engines were racin' an' a', it's vara possible that Calder mightha' lost it off his head an' no troubled himself to pick it up again. Iremember seem' that cap on him at Southampton. "

"I don't want to know about the cap. I'm asking where the water camefrom and what it was doing there, and why you were so certain that itwasn't a leak, McPhee?"

"For good reason-for good an' sufficient reason. "

"Give it to me, then. "

"Weel, it's a reason that does not properly concern myself only. Tobe preceese, I'm of opinion that it was due, the watter, in part to anerror o' judgment in another man. We can a' mak' mistakes. "

"Oh, I beg your pardon?"

"I got me to the rail again, an', 'What's wrang?' said Bell, hailin'. 

"'She'll do, ' I said. 'Send's o'er a hawser, an' a man to steer. I'llpull him in by the life-line. '

"I could see heads bobbin' back an' forth, an' a whuff or two o' strongwords. Then Bell said: 'They'll not trust themselves--one of 'em--inthis waiter--except Kinloch, an' I'll no spare him. '

"'The more salvage to me, then, ' I said. 'I'll make shift solo. '

"Says one dock-rat, at this: 'D' ye think she's safe?'

"'I'll guarantee ye nothing, ' I said, 'except maybe a hammerin' forkeepin' me this long. '

"Then he sings out: 'There's no more than one lifebelt, an' they cannafind it, or I'd come. '

"'Throw him over, the Jezebel, ' I said, for I was oot o' patience; an'they took haud o' that volunteer before he knew what was in store, andhove him over, in the bight of my life-line. So I e'en hauled him uponthe sag of it, hand over fist--a vara welcome recruit when I'd tiltedthe salt watter oot of him: for, by the way, he could na swim. 

"Syne they bent a twa-inch rope to the life-line, an' a hawser to that, an' I led the rope o'er the drum of a hand-winch forward, an' we sweatedthe hawser inboard an' made it fast to the Grotkau's bitts. 

"Bell brought the Kite so close I feared she'd roll in an' do theGrotkau's plates a mischief. He hove anither life-line to me, an' wentastern, an' we had all the weary winch work to do again wi' a secondhawser. For all that, Bell was right: we'd along tow before us, an'though Providence had helped us that far, there was no sense in leavin'too much to its keepin'. When the second hawser was fast, I was wet wi'sweat, an' I cried Bell to tak' up his slack an' go home. The other manwas by way o' helpin' the work wi' askin' for drinks, but I e'en toldhim he must hand reef an' steer, beginnin' with steerin', for I wasgoin' to turn in. He steered--oh, ay, he steered, in a manner o'speakin'. At the least, he grippit the spokes an' twiddled 'em an'looked wise, but I doubt if the Hoor ever felt it. I turned in there an'then, to young Bannister's bunk, an' slept past expression. I waukenedragin' wi' hunger, a fair lump o' sea runnin', the Kite snorin' awa'four knots an hour; an' the Grotkau slappin' her nose under, an' yawin'an' standin' over at discretion. She was a most disgracefu' tow. But theshameful thing of all was the food. I raxed me a meal fra galley-shelvesan' pantries an' lazareetes an' cubby-holes that I would not ha' gied tothe mate of a Cardiff collier; an' ye ken we say a Cardiff mate willeat clinkers to save waste. I'm sayin' it was simply vile! The crew hadwritten what they thought of it on the new paint o' the fo'c'sle, but Ihad not a decent soul wi' me to complain on. There was nothin' for me todo save watch the hawsers an' the Kite's tail squatterin' down inwhite watter when she lifted to a sea; so I got steam on the afterdonkey-pump, an' pumped oot the engine-room. There's no sense in leavin'waiter loose in a ship. When she was dry, I went doun the shaft-tunnel, an' found she was leakin' a little through the stuffin'box, but nothin'to make wark. The propeller had e'en jarred off, as I knew it must, an'Calder had been waitin' for it to go wi' his hand on the gear. He toldme as much when I met him ashore. There was nothin' started or strained. It had just slipped awa' to the bed o' the Atlantic as easy as a mandyin' wi' due warning--a most providential business for all concerned. Syne I took stock o' the Grotkau's upper works. Her boats had beensmashed on the davits, an' here an' there was the rail missin', an' aventilator or two had fetched awa', an' the bridge-rails were bent bythe seas; but her hatches were tight, and she'd taken no sort of harm. Dod, I came to hate her like a human bein', for I was eight weary daysaboard, starvin'--ay, starvin'--within a cable's length o' plenty. Allday I laid in the bunk reading the' Woman-Hater, ' the grandest bookCharlie Reade ever wrote, an' pickin' a toothful here an' there. It wasweary, weary work. Eight days, man, I was aboard the Grotkau, an' notone full meal did I make. Sma' blame her crew would not stay by her. Theother man? Oh I warked him wi' a vengeance to keep him warm. 

"It came on to blow when we fetched soundin's, an' that kept me standin'by the hawsers, lashed to the capstan, breathin' twixt green seas. Inear died o' cauld an' hunger, for the Grotkau towed like a barge, an'Bell howkit her along through or over. It was vara thick up-Channel, too. We were standin' in to make some sort o' light, an' we near walkedover twa three fishin'-boats, an' they cried us we were overclose toFalmouth. Then we were near cut down by a drunken foreign fruiter thatwas blunderin' between us an' the shore, and it got thicker an' thickerthat night, an' I could feel by the tow Bell did not know whaur he was. Losh, we knew in the morn, for the wind blew the fog oot like a candle, an' the sun came clear; and as surely as McRimmon gied me my cheque, theshadow o' the Eddystone lay across our tow-rope! We were that near--ay, we were that near! Bell fetched the Kite round with the jerk that cameclose to tearin' the bitts out o' the Grotkau, an' I mind I thankedmy Maker in young Bannister's cabin when we were inside Plymouthbreakwater. 

"The first to come aboard was McRimmon, wi' Dandie. Did I tell you ourorders were to take anything we found into Plymouth? The auld deil hadjust come down overnight, puttin' two an' two together from what Calderhad told him when the liner landed the Grotkau's men. He had preceeselyhit oor time. I'd hailed Bell for something to eat, an' he sent it o'erin the same boat wi' McRimmon, when the auld man came to me. He grinnedan' slapped his legs and worked his eyebrows the while I ate. 

"'How do Holdock, Steiner & Chase feed their men?' said he. 

"'Ye can see, ' I said, knockin' the top off another beer-bottle. 'I didnot sign to be starved, McRimmon. '

"'Nor to swum, either, ' said he, for Bell had tauld him how I carriedthe line aboard. 'Well, I'm thinkin' you'll be no loser. What freightcould we ha' put into the Lammergeyer would equal salvage on four hunderthousand pounds--hull an' cargo? Eh, McPhee? This cuts the liver outo' Holdock, Steiner, Chase & Company, Limited. Eh, McPhee? An' I'msufferin' from senile dementia now? Eh, MCPhee? An' I'm not daft, am I, till I begin to paint the Lammergeyer? Eh, McPhee? Ye may weel liftyour leg, Dandie! I ha' the laugh o' them all. Ye found watter in theengine-room?'

"'To speak wi'oot prejudice, ' I said, 'there was some watter. '

"'They thought she was sinkin' after the propeller went. She filled wi'extraordinary rapeedity. Calder said it grieved him an' Bannister toabandon her. '

"I thought o' the dinner at Radley's, an' what like o' food I'd eatenfor eight days. 

"'It would grieve them sore, ' I said. 

"'But the crew would not hear o' stayin' and workin' her back undercanvas. They're gaun up an' down sayin' they'd ha' starved first. '

"'They'd ha' starved if they'd stayed, ' said I. 

"'I tak' it, fra Calder's account, there was a mutiny a'most. '

"'Ye know more than I, McRimmon' I said. 'Speakin' wi'oot prejudice, forwe're all in the same boat, who opened the bilgecock?'

"'Oh, that's it--is it?' said the auld man, an' I could see he wassurprised. 'A bilge-cock, ye say?'

"'I believe it was a bilge-cock. They were all shut when I came aboard, but some one had flooded the engine-room eight feet over all, and shutit off with the worm-an'-wheel gear from the second gratin' afterwards. '

"'Losh!' said McRimmon. 'The ineequity o' man's beyond belief. But it'sawfu' discreditable to Holdock, Steiner & Chase, if that came oot incourt. '

"'It's just my own curiosity, ' I said. 

"'Aweel, Dandie's afflicted wi' the same disease. Dandie, strive againstcuriosity, for it brings a little dog into traps an' suchlike. Whaur wasthe Kite when yon painted liner took off the Grotkau's people?'

"'Just there or thereabouts, ' I said. 

"'An' which o' you twa thought to cover your lights?' said he, winkin'. 

"'Dandle, ' I said to the dog, 'we must both strive against curiosity. It's an unremunerative business. What's our chance o' salvage, Dandie?'

"He laughed till he choked. 'Tak' what I gie you, McPhee, an' becontent, ' he said. 'Lord, how a man wastes time when he gets old. Getaboard the Kite, mon, as soon as ye can. I've clean forgot there's aBaltic charter yammerin' for you at London. That'll be your last voyage, I'm thinkin', excep' by way o' pleasure. '

"Steiner's men were comin' aboard to take charge an' tow her round, an'I passed young Steiner in a boat as I went to the Kite. He looked downhis nose; but McRimmon pipes up: 'Here's the man ye owe the Grotkauto--at a price, Steiner--at a price! Let me introduce Mr. McPhee toyou. Maybe ye've met before; but ye've vara little luck in keepin' yourmen--ashore or afloat!'

"Young Steiner looked angry enough to eat him as he chuckled an'whustled in his dry old throat. 

"'Ye've not got your award yet, ' Steiner says. 

"'Na, na, ' says the auld man, in a screech ye could hear to the Hoe, 'but I've twa million sterlin', an' no bairns, ye Judeeas Apella, if yemean to fight; an' I'll match ye p'und for p'und till the last p'und'soot. Ye ken me, Steiner! I'm McRimmon o' McNaughten & McRimmon!'

"'Dod, ' he said betwix' his teeth, sittin' back in the boat, 'I'vewaited fourteen year to break that Jewfirm, an' God be thankit I'll doit now. '

"The Kite was in the Baltic while the auld man was warkin' his warks, but I know the assessors valued the Grotkau, all told, at over threehunder and sixty thousand--her manifest was a treat o' richness--an'McRimmon got a third for salvin' an abandoned ship. Ye see, there'svast deeference between towin' a ship wi' men on her an' pickin' up aderelict--a vast deeference--in pounds sterlin'. Moreover, twa three o'the Grotkau's crew were burnin' to testify about food, an' there was anote o' Calder to the Board, in regard to the tail-shaft, that would ha'been vara damagin' if it had come into court. They knew better than tofight. 

"Syne the Kite came back, an' McRimmon paid off me an' Bell personally, an' the rest of the crew pro rata, I believe it's ca'ed. My share--oorshare, I should say--was just twenty-five thousand pound sterlin'. "

At this point Janet jumped up and kissed him. 

"Five-and-twenty thousand pound sterlin'. Noo, I'm fra the North, andI'm not the like to fling money awa' rashly, but I'd gie six months'pay--one hunder an' twenty pounds--to know who flooded the engine-roomof the Grotkau. I'm fairly well acquaint wi' McRimmon's eediosyncrasies, and he'd no hand in it. It was not Calder, for I've asked him, an' hewanted to fight me. It would be in the highest degree unprofessional o'Calder--not fightin', but openin' bilge-cocks--but for a while I thoughtit was him. Ay, I judged it might be him--under temptation. "

"What's your theory?" I demanded. 

"Weel, I'm inclined to think it was one o' those singular providencesthat remind us we're in the hands o' Higher Powers. ". 

"It couldn't open and shut itself?"

"I did not mean that; but some half-starvin' oiler or, maybe, trimmermust ha' opened it awhile to mak' sure o' leavin' the Grotkau. It's ademoralisin' thing to see an engine-room flood up after any accident tothe gear--demoralisin' and deceptive both. Aweel, the man got whathe wanted, for they went aboard the liner cryin' that the Grotkau wassinkin'. But it's curious to think o' the consequences. In a' humanprobability, he's bein' damned in heaps at the present moment aboardanother tramp freighter; an' here am I, wi' five-an'-twenty thousandpound invested, resolute to go to sea no more--providential's thepreceese word--except as a passenger, ye'll understand, Janet. "

 * * * * *

McPhee kept his word. He and Janet went for a voyage as passengers inthe first-class saloon. They paid seventy pounds for their berths; andJanet found a very sick woman in the second-class saloon, so that forsixteen days she lived below, and chatted with the stewardesses at thefoot of the second-saloon stairs while her patient slept. McPhee was apassenger for exactly twenty-four hours. Then the engineers' mess--wherethe oilcloth tables are--joyfully took him to its bosom, and for therest of the voyage that company was richer by the unpaid services of ahighly certificated engineer. 

AN ERROR IN THE FOURTH DIMENSION

Before he was thirty, he discovered that there was no one to playwith him. Though the wealth of three toilsome generations stood tohis account, though his tastes in the matter of books, bindings, rugs, swords, bronzes, lacquer, pictures, plate, statuary, horses, conservatories, and agriculture were educated and catholic, the publicopinion of his country wanted to know why he did not go to office daily, as his father had before him. 

So he fled, and they howled behind him that he was an unpatrioticAnglomaniac, born to consume fruits, one totally lacking in publicspirit. He wore an eyeglass; he had built a wall round his countryhouse, with a high gate that shut, instead of inviting America to sit onhis flower-beds; he ordered his clothes from England; and the press ofhis abiding city cursed him, from his eye-glass to his trousers, for twoconsecutive days. 

When he rose to light again, it was where nothing less than the tents ofan invading army in Piccadilly would make any difference to anybody. Ifhe had money and leisure, England stood ready to give him all that moneyand leisure could buy. That price paid, she would ask no questions. Hetook his cheque-book and accumulated things--warily at first, forhe remembered that in America things own the man. To his delight, hediscovered that in England he could put his belongings under his feet;for classes, ranks, and denominations of people rose, as it were, fromthe earth, and silently and discreetly took charge of his possessions. They had been born and bred for that sole purpose--servants of thecheque-book. When that was at an end they would depart as mysteriouslyas they had come. 

The impenetrability of this regulated life irritated him, and hestrove to learn something of the human side of these people. Heretired baffled, to be trained by his menials. In America, the nativedemoralises the English servant. In England, the servant educates themaster. Wilton Sargent strove to learn all they taught as ardently ashis father had striven to wreck, before capture, the railways of hisnative land; and it must have been some touch of the old bandit railwayblood that bade him buy, for a song, Holt Hangars, whose forty-acrelawn, as every one knows, sweeps down in velvet to the quadrupletracks of the Great Buchonian Railway. Their trains flew by almostcontinuously, with a bee-like drone in the day and a flutter ofstrong wings at night. The son of Merton Sargent had good right to beinterested in them. He owned controlling interests in several thousandmiles of track, --not permanent way, --built on altogether differentplans, where locomotives eternally whistled for grade-crossings, andparlor-cars of fabulous expense and unrestful design skated roundcurves that the Great Buchonian would have condemned as unsafe in aconstruction-line. From the edge of his lawn he could trace the chairedmetals falling away, rigid as a bowstring, into the valley of the Prest, studded with the long perspective of the block signals, buttressedwith stone, and carried, high above all possible risk, on a forty-footembankment. 

Left to himself, he would have builded a private car, and kept it at thenearest railway-station, Amberley Royal, five miles away. But those intowhose hands he had committed himself for his English training had littleknowledge of railways and less of private cars. The one they knew wassomething that existed in the scheme of things for their convenience. The other they held to be "distinctly American"; and, with theversatility of his race, Wilton Sargent had set out to be just a littlemore English than the English. 

He succeeded to admiration. He learned not to redecorate Holt Hangars, though he warmed it; to leave his guests alone; to refrain fromsuperfluous introductions; to abandon manners of which he had greatstore, and to hold fast by manner which can after labour be acquired. Helearned to let other people, hired for the purpose, attend to the dutiesfor which they were paid. He learned--this he got from a ditcher onthe estate--that every man with whom he came in contact had his decreedposition in the fabric of the realm, which position he would do wellto consult. Last mystery of all, he learned to golf--well: and when anAmerican knows the innermost meaning of "Don't press, slow back, and keep your eye on the ball, " he is, for practical purposes, denationalised. 

His other education proceeded on the pleasantest lines. Was heinterested in any conceivable thing in heaven above, or the earthbeneath, or the waters under the earth? Forthwith appeared at his table, guided by those safe hands into which he had fallen, the very men whohad best said, done, written, explored, excavated, built, launched, created, or studied that one thing--herders of books and prints inthe British Museum; specialists in scarabs, cartouches, and dynastiesEgyptian; rovers and raiders from the heart of unknown lands;toxicologists; orchid-hunters; monographers on flint implements, carpets, prehistoric man, or early Renaissance music. They came, andthey played with him. They asked no questions; they cared not so much asa pin who or what he was. They demanded only that he should be able totalk and listen courteously. Their work was done elsewhere and out ofhis sight. 

There were also women. 

"Never, " said Wilton Sargent to himself, "has an American seen Englandas I'm seeing it"; and he thought, blushing beneath the bedclothes, ofthe unregenerate and blatant days when he would steam to office, downthe Hudson, in his twelve-hundred-ton ocean-going steam-yacht, andarrive, by gradations, at Bleecker Street, hanging on to a leatherstrap between an Irish washerwoman and a German anarchist. If any ofhis guests had seen him then they would have said: "How distinctlyAmerican!" and--Wilton did not care for that tone. He had schooledhimself to an English walk, and, so long as he did not raise it, anEnglish voice. He did not gesticulate with his hands; he sat down onmost of his enthusiasms, but he could not rid himself of The Shibboleth. He would ask for the Worcestershire sauce: even Howard, his immaculatebutler, could not break him of this. 

It was decreed that he should complete his education in a wild andwonderful manner, and, further, that I should be in at that death. 

Wilton had more than once asked me to Holt Hangars, for the purpose ofshowing how well the new life fitted him, and each time I had declaredit creaseless. His third invitation was more informal than the others, and he hinted of some matter in which he was anxious for my sympathy orcounsel, or both. There is room for an infinity of mistakes when a manbegins to take liberties with his nationality; and I went down expectingthings. A seven-foot dog-cart and a groom in the black Holt Hangarslivery met me at Amberley Royal. At Holt Hangars I was received bya person of elegance and true reserve, and piloted to my luxuriouschamber. There were no other guests in the house, and this set methinking. 

Wilton came into my room about half an hour before dinner, andthough his face was masked with a drop-curtain of highly embroideredindifference, I could see that he was not at ease. In time, for hewas then almost as difficult to move as one of my own countrymen, Iextracted the tale--simple in its extravagance, extravagant in itssimplicity. It seemed that Hackman of the British Museum had beenstaying with him about ten days before, boasting of scarabs. Hackman hasa way of carrying really priceless antiquities on his tie-ring and inhis trouser pockets. Apparently, he had intercepted something on its wayto the Boulak Museum which, he said, was "a genuine Amen-Hotepa queen'sscarab of the Fourth Dynasty. " Now Wilton had bought from Cassavetti, whose reputation is not above suspicion, a scarab of much the samescarabeousness, and had left it in his London chambers. Hackman at aventure, but knowing Cassavetti, pronounced it an imposition. There waslong discussion--savant versus millionaire, one saying: "ut I know itcannot be"; and the other: "But I can and will prove it. " Wilton foundit necessary for his soul's satisfaction to go up to town, then andthere, --a forty-mile run, --and bring back the scarab before dinner. Itwas at this point that he began to cut corners with disastrous results. Amberley Royal station being five miles away, and putting in of horses amatter of time, Wilton had told Howard, the immaculate butler, to signalthe next train to stop; and Howard, who was more of a man of resourcethan his master gave him credit for, had, with the red flag of theninth hole of the links which crossed the bottom of the lawn, signalledvehemently to the first down-train; and it had stopped. Here Wilton'saccount became confused. He attempted, it seems, to get into thathighly indignant express, but a guard restrained him with more orless force--hauled him, in fact, backyards from the window of a lockedcarriage. Wilton must have struck the gravel with some vehemence, forthe consequences, he admitted, were a free fight on the line in which helost his hat, and was at last dragged into the guard's van and set downbreathless. 

He had pressed money upon the man, and very foolishly had explainedeverything but his name. This he clung to, for he had a vision oftall head-lines in the New York papers, and well knew no son of MertonSargent could expect mercy that side the water. The guard, to Wilton'samazement, refused the money on the grounds that this was a matterfor the Company to attend to. Wilton insisted on his incognito, and, therefore, found two policemen waiting for him at St. Botolph terminus. When he expressed a wish to buy a new hat and telegraph to his friends, both policemen with one voice warned him that whatever he said wouldbe used as evidence against him; and this had impressed Wiltontremendously. 

"They were so infernally polite, " he said. "If they had clubbed me Iwouldn't have cared; but it was, 'Step this way, sir, ' and, 'Up thosestairs, please, sir, ' till they jailed me--jailed me like a commondrunk, and I had to stay in a filthy little cubby-hole of a cell allnight. "

"That comes of not giving your name and not wiring your lawyer, " Ireplied. "What did you get?"

"Forty shillings, or a month, " said Wilton, promptly, --"next morningbright and early. They were working us off, three a minute. A girl ina pink hat--she was brought in at three in the morning--got ten days. Isuppose I was lucky. I must have knocked his senses out of the guard. Hetold the old duck on the bench that I had told him I was a sergeant inthe army, and that I was gathering beetles on the track. That comes oftrying to explain to an Englishman. "

"And you?"

"Oh, I said nothing. I wanted to get out. I paid my fine, and bought anew hat, and came up here before noon next morning. There were a lot ofpeople in the house, and I told 'em I'd been unavoidably detained, andthen they began to recollect engagements elsewhere. Hackman must haveseen the fight on the track and made a story of it. I suppose theythought it was distinctly American--confound 'em! It's the only time inmy life that I've ever flagged a train, and I wouldn't have done it butfor that scarab. 'T wouldn't hurt their old trains to be held up once ina while. "

"Well, it's all over now, " I said, choking a little. "And your namedidn't get into the papers. It is rather transatlantic when you come tothink of it. "

"Over!" Wilton grunted savagely. "It's only just begun. That troublewith the guard was just common, ordinary assault--merely a littlecriminal business. The flagging of the train is civil, infernallycivil, --and means something quite different. They're after me for thatnow. "

"Who?"

"The Great Buchonian. There was a man in court watching the case onbehalf of the Company. I gave him my name in a quiet corner beforeI bought my hat, and--come to dinner now; I'll show you the resultsafterwards. " The telling of his wrongs had worked Wilton Sargent into avery fine temper, and I do not think that my conversation soothed him. In the course of the dinner, prompted by a devil of pure mischief, Idwelt with loving insistence on certain smells and sounds of New Yorkwhich go straight to the heart of the native in foreign parts; andWilton began to ask many questions about his associates aforetime--menof the New York Yacht Club, Storm King, or the Restigouche, owners ofrivers, ranches, and shipping in their playtime, lords of railways, kerosene, wheat, and cattle in their offices. When the green mint came, I gave him a peculiarly oily and atrocious cigar, of the brand they sellin the tessellated, electric-lighted, with expensive-pictures of thenude adorned bar of the Pandemonium, and Wilton chewed the end forseveral minutes ere he lit it. The butler left us alone, and the chimneyof the oak-panelled diningroom began to smoke. 

"That's another!" said he, poking the fire savagely, and I knew what hemeant. One cannot put steam-heat in houses where Queen Elizabeth slept. The steady beat of a night-mail, whirling down the valley, recalled meto business. "What about the Great Buchonian?" I said. 

"Come into my study. That's all--as yet. "

It was a pile of Seidlitz-powders-coloured correspondence, perhaps nineinches high, and it looked very businesslike. 

"You can go through it, " said Wilton. "Now I could take a chair and ared flag and go into Hyde Park and say the most atrocious things aboutyour Queen, and preach anarchy and all that, y' know, till I was hoarse, and no one would take any notice. The Police damn 'em!--would protectme if I got into trouble. But for a little thing like flagging a dirtylittle sawed-off train, --running through my own grounds, too, --I getthe whole British Constitution down on me as if I sold bombs. I don'tunderstand it. "

"No more does the Great Buchonian--apparently. " I was turning over theletters. "Here's the traffic superintendent writing that it's utterlyincomprehensible that any man should. .. Good heavens, Wilton, you havedone it!" I giggled, as I read on. 

"What's funny now?" said my host. 

"It seems that you, or Howard for you, stopped the three-forty Northerndown. "

"I ought to know that! They all had their knife into me, from theengine-driver up. "

"But it's the three-forty--the Induna--surely you've heard of the GreatBuchonian's Induna!"

"How the deuce am I to know one train from another? They come alongabout every two minutes. "

"Quite so. But this happens to be the Induna--the one train of the wholeline. She's timed for fifty-seven miles an hour. She was put on early inthe Sixties, and she has never been stopped--"

"I know! Since William the Conqueror came over, or King Charles hid inher smoke-stack. You're as bad as the rest of these Britishers. If she'sbeen run all that while, it's time she was flagged once or twice. "

The American was beginning to ooze out all over Wilton, and hissmall-boned hands were moving restlessly. 

"Suppose you flagged the Empire State Express, or the Western Cyclone?"

"Suppose I did. I know Otis Harvey--or used to. I'd send him a wire, andhe'd understand it was a ground-hog case with me. That's exactly what Itold this British fossil company here. "

"Have you been answering their letters without legal advice, then?"

"Of course I have. "

"Oh, my Sainted Country! Go ahead, Wilton. "

"I wrote 'em that I'd be very happy to see their president and explainto him in three words all about it; but that wouldn't do. 'Seems theirpresident must be a god. He was too busy, and--well, you can readfor yourself--they wanted explanations. The stationmaster at AmberleyRoyal--and he grovels before me, as a rule--wanted an explanation, andquick, too. The head sachem at St. Botolph's wanted three or four, andthe Lord High Mukkamuk that oils the locomotives wanted one every fineday. I told 'em--I've told hem about fifty times--I stopped their holyand sacred train because I wanted to board her. Did they think I wantedto feel her pulse?"

"You didn't say that?"

"Feel her pulse'? Of course not. "

"No. 'Board her. '"

"What else could I say?"

"My dear Wilton, what is the use of Mrs. Sherborne, and the Clays, andall that lot working over you for four years to make an Englishmanout of you, if the very first time you're rattled you go back to thevernacular?"

"I'm through with Mrs. Sherborne and the rest of the crowd. America'sgood enough for me. What ought I to have said? 'Please, ' or 'thanksawf'ly or how?"

There was no chance now of mistaking the man's nationality. Speech, gesture, and step, so carefully drilled into him, had gone away withthe borrowed mask of indifference. It was a lawful son of the YoungestPeople, whose predecessors were the Red Indian. His voice had risen tothe high, throaty crow of his breed when they labour under excitement. His close-set eyes showed by turns unnecessary fear, annoyance beyondreason, rapid and purposeless flights of thought, the child's lust forimmediate revenge, and the child's pathetic bewilderment, who knocks hishead against the bad, wicked table. And on the other side, I knew, stoodthe Company, as unable as Wilton to understand. 

"And I could buy their old road three times over, " he muttered, playingwith a paper-knife, and moving restlessly to and fro. 

"You didn't tell 'em that, I hope!"

There was no answer; but as I went through the letters, I felt thatWilton must have told them many surprising things. The Great Buchonianhad first asked for an explanation of the stoppage of their Induna, andhad found a certain levity in the explanation tendered. It then advised"Mr. W. Sargent" to refer his solicitor to their solicitor, or whateverthe legal phrase is. 

"And you didn't?" I said, looking up. 

"No. They were treating me exactly as if I had been a kid playing on thecable-tracks. There was not the least necessity for any solicitor. Fiveminutes' quiet talk would have settled everything. "

I returned to the correspondence. The Great Buchonian regretted that, owing to pressure of business, none of their directors could acceptMr. W. Sargent's invitation to run down and discuss the difficulty. TheGreat Buchonian was careful to point out that no animus underlay theiraction, nor was money their object. Their duty was to protect theinterests of their line, and these interests could not be protected ifa precedent were established whereby any of the Queen's subjects couldstop a train in mid-career. Again (this was another branch ofthe correspondence, not more than five heads of departments beingconcerned), the Company admitted that there was some reasonable doubt asto the duties of express-trains in all crises, and the matter wasopen to settlement by process of law till an authoritative ruling wasobtained--from the House of Lords, if necessary. 

"That broke me all up, " said Wilton, who was reading over my shoulder. "I knew I'd struck the British Constitution at last. The House ofLords--my Lord! And, anyway, I'm not one of the Queen's subjects. "

"Why, I had a notion that you'd got yourself naturalised. "

Wilton blushed hotly as he explained that very many things must happento the British Constitution ere he took out his papers. 

"How does it all strike you?" he said. "Isn't the Great Buchoniancrazy?"

"I don't know. You've done something that no one ever thought of doingbefore, and the Company don't know what to make of it. I see they offerto send down their solicitor and another official of the Company to talkthings over informally. Then here's another letter suggesting that youput up a fourteen-foot wall, crowned with bottle-glass, at the bottom ofthe garden. "

"Talk of British insolence! The man who recommends that (he's anotherbloated functionary) says that I shall 'derive great pleasure fromwatching the wall going up day by day'! Did you ever dream of such gall?I've offered 'em money enough to buy a new set of cars and pension thedriver for three generations; but that doesn't seem to be what theywant. They expect me to go to the House of Lords and get a ruling, andbuild walls between times. Are they all stark, raving mad? One 'ud thinkI made a profession of flagging trains. How in Tophet was I to knowtheir old Induna from a waytrain? I took the first that came along, andI've been jailed and fined for that once already. "

"That was for slugging the guard. "

"He had no right to haul me out when I was half-way through a window. "

"What are you going to do about it?"

"Their lawyer and the other official (can't they trust their men unlessthey send 'em in pairs?) are coming hereto-night. I told 'em I wasbusy, as a rule, till after dinner, but they might send along the entiredirectorate if it eased 'em any. "

Now, after-dinner visiting, for business or pleasure, is the custom ofthe smaller American town, and not that of England, where the end of theday is sacred to the owner, not the public. Verily, Wilton Sargent hadhoisted the striped flag of rebellion!

"Isn't it time that the humour of the situation began to strike you, Wilton?" I asked. 

"Where's the humour of baiting an American citizen just because hehappens to be a millionaire--poor devil. " He was silent for a littletime, and then went on: "Of course. Now I see!" He spun round and facedme excitedly. "It's as plain as mud. These ducks are laying their pipesto skin me. "

"They say explicitly they don't want money!"

"That's all a blind. So's their addressing me as W. Sargent. They knowwell enough who I am. They know I'm the old man's son. Why didn't Ithink of that before?"

"One minute, Wilton. If you climbed to the top of the dome of St. Paul'sand offered a reward to any Englishman who could tell you who or whatMerton Sargent had been, there wouldn't be twenty men in all London toclaim it. "

"That's their insular provincialism, then. I don't care a cent. Theold man would have wrecked the Great Buchonian before breakfast for apipe-opener. My God, I'll do it in dead earnest! I'll show 'em thatthey can't bulldoze a foreigner for flagging one of their little tinpottrains, and--I've spent fifty thousand a year here, at least, for thelast four years. "

I was glad I was not his lawyer. I re-read the correspondence, notablythe letter which recommended him--almost tenderly, I fancied--to build afourteen-foot brick wall at the end of his garden, and half-way throughit a thought struck me which filled me with pure joy. 

The footman ushered in two men, frock-coated, grey-trousered, smooth-shaven, heavy of speech and gait. It was nearly nine o'clock, butthey looked as newly come from a bath. I could not understand whythe elder and taller of the pair glanced at me as though we had anunderstanding; nor why he shook hands with an unEnglish warmth. 

"This simplifies the situation, " he said in an undertone, and, as Istared, he whispered to his companion: "I fear I shall be of very littleservice at present. Perhaps Mr. Folsom had better talk over the affairwith Mr. Sargent. "

"That is what I am here for, " said Wilton. 

The man of law smiled pleasantly, and said that he saw no reason why thedifficulty should not be arranged in two minutes' quiet talk. His air, as he sat down opposite Wilton, was soothing to the last degree, and hiscompanion drew me up-stage. The mystery was deepening, but I followedmeekly, and heard Wilton say, with an uneasy laugh:

"I've had insomnia over this affair, Mr. Folsom. Let's settle it one wayor the other, for heaven's sake!"

"Ah! Has he suffered much from this lately?" said my man, with apreliminary cough. 

"I really can't say, " I replied. 

"Then I suppose you have only lately taken charge here?"

"I came this evening. I am not exactly in charge of anything. "

"I see. Merely to observe the course of events in case--" He nodded. 

"Exactly. " Observation, after all, is my trade. 

He coughed again slightly, and came to business. 

"Now, --I am asking solely for information's sake, --do you find thedelusions persistent?"

"Which delusions?"

"They are variable, then? That is distinctly curious, because--but doI understand that the type of the delusion varies? For example, Mr. Sargent believes that he can buy the Great Buchonian. "

"Did he write you that?"

"He made the offer to the Company--on a half-sheet of note-paper. Now, has he by chance gone to the other extreme, and believed that he isin danger of becoming a pauper? The curious economy in the use of ahalf-sheet of paper shows that some idea of that kind might have flashedthrough his mind, and the two delusions can coexist, but it is notcommon. As you must know, the delusion of vast wealth--the folly ofgrandeurs, I believe our friends the French call it--is, as a rule, persistent, to the exclusion of all others. "

Then I heard Wilton's best English voice at the end of the study:

"My dear sir, I have explained twenty times already, I wanted to getthat scarab in time for dinner. Suppose you had left an important legaldocument in the same way?"

"That touch of cunning is very significant, " myfellow-practitioner--since he insisted on it--muttered. 

"I am very happy, of course, to meet you; but if you had only sent yourpresident down to dinner here, I could have settled the thing in halfa minute. Why, I could have bought the Buchonian from him while yourclerks were sending me this. " Wilton dropped his hand heavily on theblue-and-white correspondence, and the lawyer started. 

"But, speaking frankly, " the lawyer replied, "it is, if I may say so, perfectly inconceivable, even in the case of the most important legaldocuments, that any one should stop the three-forty express--theInduna--Our Induna, my dear sir. "

"Absolutely!" my companion echoed; then to me in a lower tone: "Younotice, again, the persistent delusion of wealth. I was called in whenhe wrote us that. You can see it is utterly impossible for the Companyto continue to run their trains through the property of a man who may atany moment fancy himself divinely commissioned to stop all traffic. Ifhe had only referred us to his lawyer--but, naturally, that he would notdo, under the circumstances. A pity--a great pity. He is so young. Bythe way, it is curious, is it not, to note the absolute conviction inthe voice of those who are similarly afflicted, --heart-rending, I mightsay, and the inability to follow a chain of connected thought. "

"I can't see what you want, " Wilton was saying to the lawyer. 

"It need not be more than fourteen feet high--a really desirablestructure, and it would be possible to grow pear trees on the sunnyside. " The lawyer was speaking in an unprofessional voice. "There arefew things pleasanter than to watch, so to say, one's own vine and figtree in full bearing. Consider the profit and amusement you would derivefrom it. If you could see your way to doing this, we could arrange allthe details with your lawyer, and it is possible that the Company mightbear some of the cost. I have put the matter, I trust, in a nutshell. Ifyou, my dear sir, will interest yourself in building that wall, and willkindly give us the name of your lawyers, I dare assure you that you willhear no more from the Great Buchonian. "

"But why am I to disfigure my lawn with a new brick wall?"

"Grey flint is extremely picturesque. "

"Grey flint, then, if you put it that way. Why the dickens must I gobuilding towers of Babylon just because I have held up one of yourtrains-once?"

"The expression he used in his third letter was that he wished to 'boardher, '" said my companion in my ear. "That was very curious--a marinedelusion impinging, as it were, upon a land one. What a marvellous worldhe must move in--and will before the curtain falls. So young, too--sovery young!"

"Well, if you want the plain English of it, I'm damned if I gowall-building to your orders. You can fight it all along the line, intothe House of Lords and out again, and get your rulings by the runningfoot if you like, " said Wilton, hotly. "Great heavens, man, I only didit once!"

"We have at present no guarantee that you may not do it again; and, withour traffic, we must, in justice to our passengers, demand some form ofguarantee. It must not serve as a precedent. All this might have beensaved if you had only referred us to your legal representative. " Thelawyer looked appealingly around the room. The dead-lock was complete. 

"Wilton, " I asked, "may I try my hand now?"

"Anything you like, " said Wilton. "It seems I can't talk English. Iwon't build any wall, though. " He threw himself back in his chair. 

"Gentlemen, " I said deliberately, for I perceived that the doctor'smind would turn slowly, "Mr. Sargent has very large interests in thechief railway systems of his own country. "

"His own country?" said the lawyer. 

"At that age?" said the doctor. 

"Certainly. He inherited them from his father, Mr. Sargent, who was anAmerican. "

"And proud of it, " said Wilton, as though he had been a Western Senatorlet loose on the Continent for the first time. 

"My dear sir, " said the lawyer, half rising, "why did you notacquaint the Company with this fact--this vital fact--early inour correspondence? We should have understood. We should have madeallowances. "

"Allowances be damned. Am I a Red Indian or a lunatic?"

The two men looked guilty. 

"If Mr. Sargent's friend had told us as much in the beginning, " said thedoctor, very severely, "much might have been saved. " Alas! I had made alife's enemy of that doctor. 

"I hadn't a chance, " I replied. "Now, of course, you can see that a manwho owns several thousand miles of line, as Mr. Sargent does, would beapt to treat railways a shade more casually than other people. "

"Of course; of course. He is an American; that accounts. Still, it wasthe Induna; but I can quite understand that the customs of our cousinsacross the water differ in these particulars from ours. And do youalways stop trains in this way in the States, Mr. Sargent?"

"I should if occasion ever arose; but I've never had to yet. Are yougoing to make an international complication of the business?"

"You need give yourself no further concern whatever in the matter. Wesee that there is no likelihood of this action of yours establishinga precedent, which was the only thing we were afraid of. Now that youunderstand that we cannot reconcile our system to any sudden stoppages, we feel quite sure that--"

"I sha'n't be staying long enough to flag another train, " Wilton saidpensively. 

"You are returning, then, to our fellow-kinsmen across the-ah-big pond, you call it?"

"No, sir. The ocean--the North Atlantic Ocean. It's three thousand milesbroad, and three miles deep in places. I wish it were ten thousand. "

"I am not so fond of sea-travel myself; but I think it is everyEnglishman's duty once in his life to study the great branch of ourAnglo-Saxon race across the ocean, " said the lawyer. 

"If ever you come over, and care to flag any train on my system, I'll--I'll see you through, " said Wilton. 

"Thank you--ah, thank you. You're very kind. I'm sure I should enjoymyself immensely. "

"We have overlooked the fact, " the doctor whispered to me, "that yourfriend proposed to buy the Great Buchonian. "

"He is worth anything from twenty to thirty million dollars--four tofive million pounds, " I answered, knowing that it would be hopeless toexplain. 

"Really! That is enormous wealth. But the Great Buchonian is not in themarket. "

"Perhaps he does not want to buy it now. "

"It would be impossible under any circumstances, " said the doctor. 

"How characteristic!" murmured the lawyer, reviewing matters in hismind. "I always understood from books that your countrymen were in ahurry. And so you would have gone forty miles to town and back--beforedinner--to get a scarab? How intensely American! But you talk exactlylike an Englishman, Mr. Sargent. "

"That is a fault that can be remedied. There's only one question I'dlike to ask you. You said it was inconceivable that any man should stopa train on your road?"

"And so it is-absolutely inconceivable. "

"Any sane man, that is?"

"That is what I meant, of course. I mean, with excep--"

"Thank you. "

The two men departed. Wilton checked himself as he was about to fill apipe, took one of my cigars instead, and was silent for fifteen minutes. 

Then said he: "Have you got a list of the Southampton sailings on you?"

Far away from the greystone wings, the dark cedars, the faultless graveldrives, and the mint-sauce lawns of Holt Hangars runs a river calledthe Hudson, whose unkempt banks are covered with the palaces of thosewealthy beyond the dreams of avarice. Here, where the hoot of theHaverstraw brick-barge-tug answers the howl of the locomotive on eithershore, you shall find, with a complete installation of electric light, nickel-plated binnacles, and a calliope attachment to her steam-whistle, the twelve-hundred-ton ocean-going steam-yacht Columbia, lying at herprivate pier, to take to his office, at an average speed of seventeenknots an hour, --and the barges can look out for themselves, --WiltonSargent, American. 

MY SUNDAY AT HOME

 If the Red Slayer think he slays, Or if the slain think he is slain, They know not well the subtle ways I keep and pass and turn again. EMERSON. 

It was the unreproducible slid r, as he said this was his "fy-ist" visitto England, that told me he was a New-Yorker from New York; and when, inthe course of our long, lazy journey westward from Waterloo, he enlargedupon the beauties of his city, I, professing ignorance, said no word. Hehad, amazed and delighted at the man's civility, given the London portera shilling for carrying his bag nearly fifty yards; he had thoroughlyinvestigated the first-class lavatory compartment, which the London andSouthwestern sometimes supply without extra charge; and now, half-awed, half-contemptuous, but wholly interested, he looked out upon the orderedEnglish landscape wrapped in its Sunday peace, while I watched thewonder grow upon his face. Why were the cars so short and stilted? Whyhad every other freight-car a tarpaulin drawn over it? What wages wouldan engineer get now? Where was the swarming population of England hehad read so much about? What was the rank of all those men on tricyclesalong the roads? When were we due at Plymouth I told him all I knew, and very much that I did not. He was going to Plymouth to assist in aconsultation upon a fellow-countryman who had retired to a placecalled The Hoe--was that up-town or down-town--to recover from nervousdyspepsia. Yes, he himself was a doctor by profession, and how any onein England could retain any nervous disorder passed his comprehension. Never had he dreamed of an atmosphere so soothing. Even the deep rumbleof London traffic was monastical by comparison with some cities he couldname; and the country--why, it was Paradise. A continuance of it, heconfessed, would drive him mad; but for a few months it was the mostsumptuous rest-cure in his knowledge. 

"I'll come over every year after this, " he said, in a burst of delight, as we ran between two ten-foot hedges of pink and white may. "It'sseeing all the things I've ever read about. Of course it doesn't strikeyou that way. I presume you belong here? What a finished land it is!It's arrived. 'Must have been born this way. Now, where I used tolive--Hello I what's up?"

The train stopped in a blaze of sunshine at Framlynghame Admiral, whichis made up entirely of the name-board, two platforms, and an overheadbridge, without even the usual siding. I had never known the slowest oflocals stop here before; but on Sunday all things are possible to theLondon and Southwestern. One could hear the drone of conversation alongthe carriages, and, scarcely less loud, the drone of the bumblebees inthe wallflowers up the bank. My companion thrust his head through thewindow and sniffed luxuriously. 

"Where are we now?" said he. 

"In Wiltshire, " said I. 

"Ah! A man ought to be able to write novels with his left hand in acountry like this. Well, well! And so this is about Tess's country, ain't it? I feel just as if I were in a book. Say, the conduc--the guardhas something on his mind. What's he getting at?"

The splendid badged and belted guard was striding up the platform atthe regulation official pace, and in the regulation official voice wassaying at each door:

"Has any gentleman here a bottle of medicine? A gentleman has taken abottle of poison (laudanum) by mistake. "

Between each five paces he looked at an official telegram in hishand, refreshed his memory, and said his say. The dreamy look on mycompanion's face--he had gone far away with Tess--passed with the speedof a snap-shutter. After the manner of his countrymen, he had risen tothe situation, jerked his bag down from the overhead rail, opened it, and I heard the click of bottles. "Find out where the man is, " he saidbriefly. "I've got something here that will fix him--if he can swallowstill. "

Swiftly I fled up the line of carriages in the wake of the guard. Therewas clamour in a rear compartment--the voice of one bellowing to be letout, and the feet of one who kicked. With the tail of my eye I sawthe New York doctor hastening thither, bearing in his hand a blueand brimming glass from the lavatory compartment. The guard I foundscratching his head unofficially, by the engine, and murmuring: "Well, Iput a bottle of medicine off at Andover--I'm sure I did. "

"Better say it again, any'ow', " said the driver. "Orders is orders. Sayit again. "

Once more the guard paced back, I, anxious to attract his attention, trotting at his heels. 

"In a minute--in a minute, sir, " he said, waving an arm capable ofstarting all the traffic on the London and Southwestern Railway at awave. "Has any gentleman here got a bottle of medicine? A gentleman hastaken a bottle of poison (laudanum) by mistake. "

"Where's the man?" I gasped. 

"Woking. 'Ere's my orders. " He showed me the telegram, on which were thewords to be said. "'E must have left 'is bottle in the train, an' tookanother by mistake. 'E's been wirin' from Woking awful, an', now Icome to think of, it, I'm nearly sure I put a bottle of medicine off atAndover. "

"Then the man that took the poison isn't in the train?"

"Lord, no, sir. No one didn't take poison that way. 'E took it awaywith 'im, in 'is 'ands. 'E's wirin' from Wokin'. My orders was to askeverybody in the train, and I 'ave, an' we're four minutes late now. Areyou comin' on, sir? No? Right be'ind!"

There is nothing, unless, perhaps, the English language, more terriblethan the workings of an English railway-line. An instant before itseemed as though we were going to spend all eternity at FramlynghameAdmiral, and now I was watching the tail of the train disappear roundthe curve of the cutting. 

But I was not alone. On the one bench of the down platform sat thelargest navvy I have ever seen in my life, softened and made affable(for he smiled generously) with liquor. In his huge hands he nursed anempty tumbler marked "L. S. W. R. "--marked also, internally, with streaksof blue-grey sediment. Before him, a hand on his shoulder, stood thedoctor, and as I came within ear-shot, this is what I heard him say:"Just you hold on to your patience for a minute or two longer, andyou'll be as right as ever you were in your life. I'll stay with youtill you're better. "

"Lord! I'm comfortable enough, " said the navvy. "Never felt better in mylife. "

Turning to me, the doctor lowered his voice. "He might have died whilethat fool conduct-guard was saying his piece. I've fixed him, though. The stuff's due in about five minutes, but there's a heap to him. Idon't see how we can make him take exercise. "

For the moment I felt as though seven pounds of crushed ice had beenneatly applied in the form of a compress to my lower stomach. 

"How--how did you manage it?" I gasped. 

"I asked him if he'd have a drink. He was knocking spots out of thecar--strength of his constitution, I suppose. He said he'd go 'mostanywhere for a drink, so I lured onto the platform, and loaded him up. 'Cold-blooded people, you Britishers are. That train's gone, and no oneseemed to care a cent. "

"We've missed it, " I said. 

He looked at me curiously. 

"We'll get another before sundown, if that's your only trouble. Say, porter, when's the next train down?"

"Seven forty-five, " said the one porter, and passed out through thewicket-gate into the landscape. It was then three-twenty of a hot andsleepy afternoon. The station was absolutely deserted. The navvy hadclosed his eyes, and now nodded. 

"That's bad, " said the doctor. "The man, I mean, not the train. We mustmake him walk somehow--walk up and down. "

Swiftly as might be, I explained the delicacy of the situation, andthe doctor from New York turned a full bronze-green. Then he sworecomprehensively at the entire fabric of our glorious Constitution, cursing the English language, root, branch, and paradigm, through itsmost obscure derivatives. His coat and bag lay on the bench next to thesleeper. Thither he edged cautiously, and I saw treachery in his eye. 

What devil of delay possessed him to slip on his spring overcoat, Icannot tell. They say a slight noise rouses a sleeper more surely thana heavy one, and scarcely had the doctor settled himself in his sleevesthan the giant waked and seized that silk-faced collar in a hot righthand. There was rage in his face-rage and the realisation of newemotions. 

"I'm--I'm not so comfortable as I were, " he said from the deeps ofhis interior. "You'll wait along o' me, you will. " He breathed heavilythrough shut lips. 

Now, if there was one thing more than another upon which the doctorhad dwelt in his conversation with me, it was upon the essentiallaw-abidingness, not to say gentleness, of his much-misrepresentedcountry. And yet (truly, it may have been no more than a button thatirked him) I saw his hand travel backwards to his right hip, clutch atsomething, and come away empty. 

"He won't kill you, " I said. "He'll probably sue you in court, if I knowmy own people. Better give him some money from time to time. "

"If he keeps quiet till the stuff gets in its work, " the doctoranswered, "I'm all right. If he doesn't. .. My name is Emory--Julian B. Emory--193 'Steenth Street, corner of Madison and--"

"I feel worse than I've ever felt, " said the navvy, with suddenness. "What-did-you-give-me-the-drink-for?"

The matter seemed to be so purely personal that I withdrew to astrategic position on the overhead bridge, and, abiding in the exactcentre, looked on from afar. 

I could see the white road that ran across the shoulder of SalisburyPlain, unshaded for mile after mile, and a dot in the middle distance, the back of the one porter returning to Framlynghame Admiral, if sucha place existed, till seven forty-five. The bell of a church invisibleclanked softly. There was a rustle in the horse-chestnuts to the left ofthe line, and the sound of sheep cropping close. 

The peace of Nirvana lay upon the land, and, brooding in it, my elbow onthe warm iron girder of the footbridge (it is a forty-shilling fineto cross by any other means), I perceived, as never before, how theconsequences of our acts run eternal through time and through space. Ifwe impinge never so slightly upon the life of a fellow-mortal, the touchof our personality, like the ripple of a stone cast into a pond, widensand widens in unending circles across the aeons, till the far-offGods themselves cannot say where action ceases. Also, it was I who hadsilently set before the doctor the tumbler of the first-class lavatorycompartment now speeding Plymouthward. Yet I was, in spirit at least, a million leagues removed from that unhappy man of another nationality, who had chosen to thrust an inexpert finger into the workings of analien life. The machinery was dragging him up and down the sunlitplatform. The two men seemed to be learning polka-mazurkas together, andthe burden of their song, borne by one deep voice, was: "What did yougive me the drink for?"

I saw the flash of silver in the doctor's hand. The navvy took it andpocketed it with his left; but never for an instant did his strong rightleave the doctor's coat-collar, and as the crisis approached, louder andlouder rose his bull-like roar: "What did you give me the drink for?"

They drifted under the great twelve-inch pinned timbers of thefoot-bridge towards the bench, and, I gathered, the time was very nearat hand. The stuff was getting in its work. Blue, white, and blue again, rolled over the navvy's face in waves, till all settled to one richclay-bank yellow and--that fell which fell. 

I thought of the blowing up of Hell Gate; of the geysers in theYellowstone Park; of Jonah and his whale: but the lively original, asI watched it foreshortened from above, exceeded all these things. Hestaggered to the bench, the heavy wooden seat cramped with iron crampsinto the enduring stone, and clung there with his left hand. It quiveredand shook, as a breakwater-pile quivers to the rush of landward-racingseas; nor was there lacking when he caught his breath, the "scream ofa maddened beach dragged down by the tide. " His right hand was uponthe doctor's collar, so that the two shook to one paroxysm, pendulumsvibrating together, while I, apart, shook with them. 

It was colossal-immense; but of certain manifestations the Englishlanguage stops short. French only, the caryatid French of Victor Hugo, would have described it; so I mourned while I laughed, hastily shufflingand discarding inadequate adjectives. The vehemence of the shock spentitself, and the sufferer half fell, half knelt, across the bench. He wascalling now upon God and his wife, huskily, as the wounded bull callsupon the unscathed herd to stay. Curiously enough, he used no badlanguage: that had gone from him with the rest. The doctor exhibitedgold. It was taken and retained. So, too, was the grip on thecoat-collar. 

"If I could stand, " boomed the giant, despairingly, "I'd smash you--youan' your drinks. I'm dyin'--dyin'--dyin'!"

"That's what you think, " said the doctor. "You'll find it will do you alot of good"; and, making a virtue of a somewhat imperative necessity, he added: "I'll stay by you. If you'd let go of me a minute I'd give yousomething that would settle you. "

"You've settled me now, you damned anarchist. Takin' the bread out ofthe mouth of an English workin'man! But I'll keep 'old of you till I'mwell or dead. I never did you no 'arm. S'pose I were a little full. Theypumped me out once at Guy's with a stummick-pump. I could see that, butI can't see this 'ere, an' it's killin' of me by slow degrees. "

"You'll be all right in half-an-hour. What do you suppose I'd want tokill you for?" said the doctor, who came of a logical breed. 

"'Ow do I know? Tell 'em in court. You'll get seven years for this, youbody-snatcher. That's what you are--a bloomin' bodysnatcher. There'sjustice, I tell you, in England; and my Union'll prosecute, too. Wedon't stand no tricks with people's insides 'ere. They give a woman tenyears for a sight less than this. An' you'll 'ave to pay 'undreds an''undreds o' pounds, besides a pension to the missus. You'll see, youphysickin' furriner. Where's your licence to do such? You'll catch it, Itell you!"

Then I observed what I have frequently observed before, that a man whois but reasonably afraid of an altercation with an alien has a mostpoignant dread of the operations of foreign law. The doctor's voice wasflute-like in its exquisite politeness, as he answered:

"But I've given you a very great deal of money--fif-three pounds, Ithink. "

"An' what's three pound for poisonin' the likes o' me? They told me atGuy's I'd fetch twenty-cold-on the slates. Ouh! It's comin' again. "

A second time he was cut down by the foot, as it were, and the strainingbench rocked to and fro as I averted my eyes. 

It was the very point of perfection in the heart of an English May-day. The unseen tides of the air had turned, and all nature was setting itsface with the shadows of the horse-chestnuts towards the peace of thecoming night. But there were hours yet, I knew--long, long hours of theeternal English twilight--to the ending of the day. I was well contentto be alive--to abandon myself to the drift of Time and Fate; to absorbgreat peace through my skin, and to love my country with the devotionthat three thousand miles of intervening sea bring to fullest flower. And what a garden of Eden it was, this fatted, clipped, and washen land!A man could camp in any open field with more sense of home and securitythan the stateliest buildings of foreign cities could afford. And thejoy was that it was all mine alienably--groomed hedgerow, spotlessroad, decent greystone cottage, serried spinney, tasselled copse, apple-bellied hawthorn, and well-grown tree. A light puff of wind--itscattered flakes of may over the gleaming rails--gave me a faint whiffas it might have been of fresh cocoanut, and I knew that the goldengorse was in bloom somewhere out of sight. Linneeus had thanked God onhis bended knees when he first saw a field of it; and, by the way, thenavvy was on his knees, too. But he was by no means praying. He waspurely disgustful. 

The doctor was compelled to bend over him, his face towards the back ofthe seat, and from what I had seen I supposed the navvy was now dead. If that were the case it would be time for me to go; but I knew that solong as a man trusts himself to the current of Circumstance, reachingout for and rejecting nothing that comes his way, no harm can overtakehim. It is the contriver, the schemer, who is caught by the Law, andnever the philosopher. I knew that when the play was played, Destinyherself would move me on from the corpse; and I felt very sorry for thedoctor. 

In the far distance, presumably upon the road that led to FramlynghameAdmiral, there appeared a vehicle and a horse--the one ancient fly thatalmost every village can produce at need. This thing was advancing, unpaid by me, towards the station; would have to pass along the deep-cutlane, below the railway-bridge, and come out on the doctor's side. I wasin the centre of things, so all sides were alike to me. Here, then, wasmy machine from the machine. When it arrived; something would happen, orsomething else. For the rest, I owned my deeply interested soul. 

The doctor, by the seat, turned so far as his cramped position allowed, his head over his left shoulder, and laid his right hand upon his lips. I threw back my hat and elevated my eyebrows in the form of a question. The doctor shut his eyes and nodded his head slowly twice or thrice, beckoning me to come. I descended cautiously, and it was as the signshad told. The navvy was asleep, empty to the lowest notch; yet his handclutched still the doctor's collar, and at the lightest movement (thedoctor was really very cramped) tightened mechanically, as the hand ofa sick woman tightens on that of the watcher. He had dropped, squattingalmost upon his heels, and, falling lower, had dragged the doctor overto the left. 

The doctor thrust his right hand, which was free, into his pocket, drewforth some keys, and shook his head. The navvy gurgled in his sleep. Silently I dived into my pocket, took out one sovereign, and held it upbetween finger and thumb. Again the doctor shook his head. Money was notwhat was lacking to his peace. His bag had fallen from the seat to theground. He looked towards it, and opened his mouth-O-shape. The catchwas not a difficult one, and when I had mastered it, the doctor's rightforefinger was sawing the air. With an immense caution, I extractedfrom the bag such a knife as they use for cutting collops off legs. The doctor frowned, and with his first and second fingers imitated theaction of scissors. Again I searched, and found a most diabolical pairof cock-nosed shears, capable of vandyking the interiors of elephants. The doctor then slowly lowered his left shoulder till the navvy's rightwrist was supported by the bench, pausing a moment as the spent volcanorumbled anew. Lower and lower the doctor sank, kneeling now by thenavvy's side, till his head was on a level with, and just in front of, the great hairy fist, and--there was no tension on the coat-collar. Thenlight dawned on me. 

Beginning a little to the right of the spinal column, I cut a hugedemilune out of his new spring overcoat, bringing it round as farunder his left side (which was the right side of the navvy) as I dared. Passing thence swiftly to the back of the seat, and reaching between thesplines, I sawed through the silk-faced front on the left-hand side ofthe coat till the two cuts joined. 

Cautiously as the box-turtle of his native heath, the doctor drew awaysideways and to the right, with the air of a frustrated burglar comingout from under a bed, and stood up free, one black diagonal shoulderprojecting through the grey of his ruined overcoat. I returned thescissors to the bag, snapped the catch, and held all out to him as thewheels of the fly rang hollow under the railway arch. 

It came at a footpace past the wicket-gate of the station, and thedoctor stopped it with a whisper. It was going some five miles acrosscountry to bring home from church some one, --I could not catch thename, --because his own carriage-horses were lame. Its destinationhappened to be the one place in all the world that the doctor was mostburningly anxious to visit, and he promised the driver untold gold todrive to some ancient flame of his--Helen Blazes, she was called. 

"Aren't you coming, too?" he said, bundling his overcoat into his bag. 

Now the fly had been so obviously sent to the doctor, and to no oneelse, that I had no concern with it. Our roads, I saw, divided, andthere was, further, a need upon me to laugh. 

"I shall stay here, " I said. "It's a very pretty country. "

"My God!" he murmured, as softly as he shut the door, and I felt that itwas a prayer. 

Then he went out of my life, and I shaped my course for therailway-bridge. It was necessary to pass by the bench once more, but thewicket was between us. The departure of the fly had waked the navvy. Hecrawled on to the seat, and with malignant eyes watched the driver flogdown the road. 

"The man inside o' that, " he called, "'as poisoned me. 'E's abody-snatcher. 'E's comin' back again when I'm cold. 'Ere's myevidence!"

He waved his share of the overcoat, and I went my way, because I washungry. Framlynghame Admiral village is a good two miles from thestation, and I waked the holy calm of the evening every step of thatway with shouts and yells, casting myself down in the flank of the goodgreen hedge when I was too weak to stand. There was an inn, --a blessedinn with a thatched roof, and peonies in the garden, --and I orderedmyself an upper chamber in which the Foresters held their courts for thelaughter was not all out of me. A bewildered woman brought me ham andeggs, and I leaned out of the mullioned window, and laughed betweenmouthfuls. I sat long above the beer and the perfect smoke thatfollowed, till the lights changed in the quiet street, and I began tothink of the seven forty-five down, and all that world of the "ArabianNights" I had quitted. 

Descending, I passed a giant in moleskins who filled the low-ceiledtap-room. Many empty plates stood before him, and beyond them a fringeof the Framlynghame Admiralty, to whom he was unfolding a wondrous taleof anarchy, of body-snatching, of bribery, and the Valley of the Shadowfrom the which he was but newly risen. And as he talked he ate, andas he ate he drank, for there was much room in him; and anon he paidroyally, speaking of Justice and the Law, before whom all Englishmen areequal, and all foreigners and anarchists vermin and slime. 

On my way to the station, he passed me with great strides, his head highamong the low-flying bats, his feet firm on the packed road-metal, hisfists clinched, and his breath coming sharply. There was a beautifulsmell in the air--the smell of white dust, bruised nettles, and smoke, that brings tears to the throat of a man who sees his country butseldom--a smell like the echoes of the lost talk of lovers; theinfinitely suggestive odour of an immemorial civilisation. It was aperfect walk; and, lingering on every step, I came to the station justas the one porter lighted the last of a truckload of lamps, and set themback in the lamp-room, while he dealt tickets to four or five of thepopulation who, not contented with their own peace, thought fit totravel. It was no ticket that the navvy seemed to need. He was sittingon a bench, wrathfully grinding a tumbler into fragments with his heel. I abode in obscurity at the end of the platform, interested as ever, thank Heaven, in my surroundings. There was a jar of wheels on the road. The navvy rose as they approached, strode through the wicket, and laida hand upon a horse's bridle that brought the beast up on his hirelinghind legs. It was the providential fly coming back, and for a moment Iwondered whether the doctor had been mad enough to revisit his practice. 

"Get away; you're drunk, " said the driver. 

"I'm not, " said the navvy. "I've been waitin' 'ere hours and hours. Comeout, you beggar inside there!"

"Go on, driver, " said a voice I did not know--a crisp, clear, Englishvoice. 

"All right, " said the navvy. "You wouldn't 'ear me when I was polite. Now will you come?"

There was a chasm in the side of the fly, for he had wrenched thedoor bodily off its hinges, and was feeling within purposefully. Awell-booted leg rewarded him, and there came out, not with delight, hopping on one foot, a round and grey-haired Englishman, from whosearmpits dropped hymn-books, but from his mouth an altogether differentservice of song. 

"Come on, you bloomin' body-snatcher! You thought I was dead, didyou?" roared the navvy. And the respectable gentleman came accordingly, inarticulate with rage. 

"Ere's a man murderin' the Squire, " the driver shouted, and fell fromhis box upon the navvy's neck. 

To do them justice, the people of Framlynghame Admiral, so many as wereon the platform, rallied to the call in the best spirit of feudalism. Itwas the one porter who beat the navvy on the nose with a ticket-punch, but it was the three third-class tickets who attached themselves to hislegs and freed the captive. 

"Send for a constable! lock him up!" said that man, adjusting hiscollar; and unitedly they cast him into the lamp-room, and turned thekey, while the driver mourned over the wrecked fly. 

Till then the navvy, whose only desire was justice, had kept his tempernobly. Then he went Berserk before our amazed eyes. The door of thelamp-room was generously constructed, and would not give an inch, butthe window he tore from its fastenings and hurled outwards. The oneporter counted the damage in a loud voice, and the others, armingthemselves with agricultural implements from the station garden, kept upa ceaseless winnowing before the window, themselves backed close to thewall, and bade the prisoner think of the gaol. He answered little tothe point, so far as they could understand; but seeing that his exit wasimpeded, he took a lamp and hurled it through the wrecked sash. It fellon the metals and went out. With inconceivable velocity, the others, fifteen in all, followed, looking like rockets in the gloom, and withthe last (he could have had no plan) the Berserk rage left him as thedoctor's deadly brewage waked up, under the stimulus of violent exerciseand a very full meal, to one last cataclysmal exhibition, and--we heardthe whistle of the seven forty-five down. 

They were all acutely interested in as much of the wreck as they couldsee, for the station smelt to Heaven of oil, and the engine skitteredover broken glass like a terrier in a cucumber-frame. The guard had tohear of it, and the Squire had his version of the brutal assault, andheads were out all along the carriages as I found me a seat. 

"What is the row?" said a young man, as I entered. "'Man drunk?"

"Well, the symptoms, so far as my observation has gone, more resemblethose of Asiatic cholera than anything else, " I answered, slowly andjudicially, that every word might carry weight in the appointed schemeof things. Up till then, you will observe, I had taken no part in thatwar. 

He was an Englishman, but he collected his belongings as swiftly as hadthe American, ages before, and leaped upon the platform, crying: "Can Ibe of any service? I'm a doctor. "

From the lamp-room I heard a wearied voice wailing "Another bloomin'doctor!"

And the seven forty-five carried me on, a step nearer to Eternity, bythe road that is worn and seamed and channelled with the passions, andweaknesses, and warring interests of man who is immortal and master ofhis fate. 

THE BRUSHWOOD BOY

 Girls and boys, come out to play The moon is shining as bright as day! Leave your supper and leave your sleep, And come with your playfellows out in the street! Up the ladder and down the wall--

A CHILD of three sat up in his crib and screamed at the top of hisvoice, his fists clinched and his eyes full of terror. At first no oneheard, for his nursery was in the west wing, and the nurse was talkingto a gardener among the laurels. Then the housekeeper passed that way, and hurried to soothe him. He was her special pet, and she disapprovedof the nurse. 

"What was it, then? What was it, then? There's nothing to frighten him, Georgie dear. "

"It was--it was a policeman! He was on the Down--I saw him! He came in. Jane said he would. "

"Policemen don't come into houses, dearie. Turn over, and take my hand. "

"I saw him--on the Down. He came here. Where is your hand, Harper?"

The housekeeper waited till the sobs changed to the regular breathing ofsleep before she stole out. 

"Jane, what nonsense have you been telling Master Georgie aboutpolicemen?"

"I haven't told him anything. "

"You have. He's been dreaming about them. "

"We met Tisdall on Dowhead when we were in the donkey-cart this morning. P'r'aps that's what put it into his head. "

"Oh! Now you aren't going to frighten the child into fits with yoursilly tales, and the master know nothing about it. If ever I catch youagain, " etc. 

 * * * * *

A child of six was telling himself stories as he lay in bed. It was anew power, and he kept it a secret. A month before it had occurred tohim to carry on a nursery tale left unfinished by his mother, and hewas delighted to find the tale as it came out of his own head justas surprising as though he were listening to it "all new from thebeginning. " There was a prince in that tale, and he killed dragons, but only for one night. Ever afterwards Georgie dubbed himself prince, pasha, giant-killer, and all the rest (you see, he could not tell anyone, for fear of being laughed at), and his tales faded gradually intodreamland, where adventures were so many that he could not recall thehalf of them. They all began in the same way, or, as Georgie explainedto the shadows of the night-light, there was "the same starting-offplace"--a pile of brushwood stacked somewhere near a beach; and roundthis pile Georgie found himself running races with little boys andgirls. These ended, ships ran high up the dry land and opened intocardboard boxes; or gilt-and-green iron railings that surroundedbeautiful gardens turned all soft and could be walked through andoverthrown so long as he remembered it was only a dream. He could neverhold that knowledge more than a few seconds ere things became real, andinstead of pushing down houses full of grown-up people (a justrevenge), he sat miserably upon gigantic door-steps trying to sing themultiplication-table up to four times six. 

The princess of his tales was a person of wonderful beauty (she camefrom the old illustrated edition of Grimm, now out of print), and as shealways applauded Georgie's valour among the dragons and buffaloes, hegave her the two finest names he had ever heard in his life--Annie andLouise, pronounced "Annieanlouise. " When the dreams swamped the stories, she would change into one of the little girls round the brushwood-pile, still keeping her title and crown. She saw Georgie drown once in adream-sea by the beach (it was the day after he had been taken tobathe in a real sea by his nurse); and he said as he sank: "PoorAnnieanlouise! She'll be sorry for me now!" But "Annieanlouise, " walkingslowly on the beach, called, "'Ha! ha!' said the duck, laughing, " whichto a waking mind might not seem to bear on the situation. It consoledGeorgie at once, and must have been some kind of spell, for it raisedthe bottom of the deep, and he waded out with a twelve-inch flower-poton each foot. As he was strictly forbidden to meddle with flower-pots inreal life, he felt triumphantly wicked. 

 * * * * *

The movements of the grown-ups, whom Georgie tolerated, but did notpretend to understand, removed his world, when he was seven yearsold, to a place called "Oxford-on-a-visit. "Here were huge buildingssurrounded by vast prairies, with streets of infinite length, and, aboveall, something called the "buttery, " which Georgie was dying tosee, because he knew it must be greasy, and therefore delightful. Heperceived how correct were his judgments when his nurse led him througha stone arch into the presence of an enormously fat man, who asked himif he would like some, bread and cheese. Georgie was used to eat allround the clock, so he took what "buttery" gave him, and would havetaken some brown liquid called "auditale" but that his nurse led himaway to an afternoon performance of a thing called "Pepper's Ghost. "This was intensely thrilling. People's heads came off and flew all overthe stage, and skeletons danced bone by bone, while Mr. Pepper himself, beyond question a man of the worst, waved his arms and flapped a longgown, and in a deep bass voice (Georgie had never heard a man singbefore) told of his sorrows unspeakable. Some grown-up or other tried toexplain that the illusion was made with mirrors, and that there was noneed to be frightened. Georgie did not know what illusions were, but hedid know that a mirror was the looking-glass with the ivory handle onhis mother's dressing-table. Therefore the "grown-up" was "just sayingthings" after the distressing custom of "grown-ups, " and Georgie castabout for amusement between scenes. Next to him sat a little girldressed all in black, her hair combed off her forehead exactly like thegirl in the book called "Alice in Wonderland, " which had been given himon his last birthday. The little girl looked at Georgie, and Georgielooked at her. There seemed to be no need of any further introduction. 

"I've got a cut on my thumb, " said he. It was the first work of hisfirst real knife, a savage triangular hack, and he esteemed it a mostvaluable possession. 

"I'm tho thorry!" she lisped. "Let me look pleathe. "

"There's a di-ack-lum plaster on, but it's all raw under, " Georgieanswered, complying. 

"Dothent it hurt?"--her grey eyes were full of pity and interest. 

"Awf'ly. Perhaps it will give me lockjaw. "

"It lookth very horrid. I'm tho thorry!" She put a forefinger to hishand, and held her head sidewise for a better view. 

Here the nurse turned, and shook him severely. "You mustn't talk tostrange little girls, Master Georgie. "

"She isn't strange. She's very nice. I like her, an' I've showed her mynew cut. "

"The idea! You change places with me. "

She moved him over, and shut out the little girl from his view, whilethe grown-up behind renewed the futile explanations. 

"I am not afraid, truly, " said the boy, wriggling in despair; "but whydon't you go to sleep in the afternoons, same as Provost of Oriel?"

Georgie had been introduced to a grown-up of that name, who slept inhis presence without apology. Georgie understood that he was the mostimportant grown-up in Oxford; hence he strove to gild his rebuke withflatteries. This grown-up did not seem to like it, but he collapsed, and Georgie lay back in his seat, silent and enraptured. Mr. Pepper wassinging again, and the deep, ringing voice, the red fire, and the misty, waving gown all seemed to be mixed up with the little girl who had beenso kind about his cut. When the performance was ended she noddedto Georgie, and Georgie nodded in return. He spoke no more than wasnecessary till bedtime, but meditated on new colors and soundsand lights and music and things as far as he understood them; thedeep-mouthed agony of Mr. Pepper mingling with the little girl's lisp. That night he made a new tale, from which he shamelessly removedthe Rapunzel-Rapunzel-let-down-your-hair princess, gold crown, Grimmedition, and all, and put a new Annieanlouise in her place. So it wasperfectly right and natural that when he came to the brushwood-pile heshould find her waiting for him, her hair combed off her forehead morelike Alice in Wonderland than ever, and the races and adventures began. 

Ten years at an English public school do not encourage dreaming. Georgiewon his growth and chest measurement, and a few other things whichdid not appear in the bills, under a system of cricket, foot-ball, andpaper-chases, from four to five days a week, which provided for threelawful cuts of a ground-ash if any boy absented himself from theseentertainments. He became a rumple-collared, dusty-hatted fag of theLower Third, and a light half-back at Little Side foot-ball; was pushedand prodded through the slack backwaters of the Lower Fourth, where theraffle of a school generally accumulates; won his "second-fifteen" capat foot-ball, enjoyed the dignity of a study with two companions init, and began to look forward to office as a sub-prefect. At last heblossomed into full glory as head of the school, ex-officio captain ofthe games; head of his house, where he and his lieutenants preserveddiscipline and decency among seventy boys from twelve to seventeen;general arbiter in the quarrels that spring up among the touchySixth--and intimate friend and ally of the Head himself. When he steppedforth in the black jersey, white knickers, and black stockings of theFirst Fifteen, the new match-ball under his arm, and his old and frayedcap at the back of his head, the small fry of the lower forms stoodapart and worshipped, and the "new caps" of the team talked to himostentatiously, that the world might see. And so, in summer, when hecame back to the pavilion after a slow but eminently safe game, itmattered not whether he had made nothing or, as once happened, a hundredand three, the school shouted just the same, and women-folk who had cometo look at the match looked at Cottar--Cottar, major; "that's Cottar!"Above all, he was responsible for that thing called the tone of theschool, and few realise with what passionate devotion a certain type ofboy throws himself into this work. Home was a faraway country, full ofponies and fishing and shooting, and men-visitors who interfered withone's plans; but school was the real world, where things of vitalimportance happened, and crises arose that must be dealt with promptlyand quietly. Not for nothing was it written, "Let the Consuls look toit that the Republic takes no harm, " and Georgie was glad to be back inauthority when the holidays ended. Behind him, but not too near, was thewise and temperate Head, now suggesting the wisdom of the serpent, nowcounselling the mildness of the dove; leading him on to see, more byhalf-hints than by any direct word, how boys and men are all of a piece, and how he who can handle the one will assuredly in time control theother. 

For the rest, the school was not encouraged to dwell on its emotions, but rather to keep in hard condition, to avoid false quantities, and toenter the army direct, without the help of the expensive London crammer, under whose roof young blood learns too much. Cottar, major, went theway of hundreds before him. The Head gave him six months' final polish, taught him what kind of answers best please a certain kind of examiners, and handed him over to the properly constituted authorities, who passedhim into Sandhurst. Here he had sense enough to see that he was in theLower Third once more, and behaved with respect toward his seniors, tillthey in turn respected him, and he was promoted to the rank of corporal, and sat in authority over mixed peoples with all the vices of menand boys combined. His reward was another string of athletic cups, a good-conduct sword, and, at last, Her Majesty's commission as asubaltern in a first-class line regiment. He did not know that he borewith him from school and college a character worth much fine gold, butwas pleased to find his mess so kindly. He had plenty of money of hisown; his training had set the public school mask upon his face, and hadtaught him how many were the "things no fellow can do. " By virtue of thesame training he kept his pores open and his mouth shut. 

The regular working of the Empire shifted his world to India, wherehe tasted utter loneliness in subaltern's quarters, --one room andone bullock-trunk, --and, with his mess, learned the new life from thebeginning. But there were horses in the land-ponies at reasonable price;there was polo for such as could afford it; there were the disreputableremnants of a pack of hounds; and Cottar worried his way along withouttoo much despair. It dawned on him that a regiment in India was nearerthe chance of active service than he had conceived, and that a man mightas well study his profession. A major of the new school backed this ideawith enthusiasm, and he and Cottar accumulated a library of militaryworks, and read and argued and disputed far into the nights. But theadjutant said the old thing: "Get to know your men, young un, and they'll follow you anywhere. That's all you want--know your men. " Cottarthought he knew them fairly well at cricket and the regimental sports, but he never realised the true inwardness of them till he was sent offwith a detachment of twenty to sit down in a mud fort near a rushingriver which was spanned by a bridge of boats. When the floods came theywent forth and hunted strayed pontoons along the banks. Otherwise therewas nothing to do, and the men got drunk, gambled, and quarrelled. Theywere a sickly crew, for a junior subaltern is by custom saddled with theworst men. Cottar endured their rioting as long as he could, and thensent down-country for a dozen pairs of boxing-gloves. 

"I wouldn't blame you for fightin', " said he, "if you only knew how touse your hands; but you don't. Take these things, and I'll show you. "The men appreciated his efforts. Now, instead of blaspheming andswearing at a comrade, and threatening to shoot him, they could take himapart, and soothe themselves to exhaustion. As one explained whom Cottarfound with a shut eye and a diamond-shaped mouth spitting blood throughan embrasure: "We tried it with the gloves, sir, for twenty minutes, andthat done us no good, sir. Then we took off the gloves and tried it thatway for another twenty minutes, same as you showed us, sir, an' thatdone us a world o' good. 'T wasn't fightin', sir; there was a bet on. "

Cottar dared not laugh, but he invited his men to other sports, such asracing across country in shirt and trousers after a trail of torn paper, and to single-stick in the evenings, till the native population, whohad a lust for sport in every form, wished to know whether the white menunderstood wrestling. They sent in an ambassador, who took the soldiersby the neck and threw them about the dust; and the entire command wereall for this new game. They spent money on learning new falls andholds, which was better than buying other doubtful commodities; and thepeasantry grinned five deep round the tournaments. 

That detachment, who had gone up in bullock-carts, returnedto headquarters at an average rate of thirty miles a day, fairheel-and-toe; no sick, no prisoners, and no court martials pending. Theyscattered themselves among their friends, singing the praises of theirlieutenant and looking for causes of offense. 

"How did you do it, young un?" the adjutant asked. 

"Oh, I sweated the beef off 'em, and then I sweated some muscle on to'em. It was rather a lark. "

"If that's your way of lookin' at it, we can give you all the larks youwant. Young Davies isn't feelin' quite fit, and he's next for detachmentduty. Care to go for him?"

"'Sure he wouldn't mind? I don't want to shove myself forward, youknow. "

"You needn't bother on Davies's account. We'll give you the sweepin's ofthe corps, and you can see what you can make of 'em. "

"All right, " said Cottar. "It's better fun than loafin' aboutcantonments. "

"Rummy thing, " said the adjutant, after Cottar had returned to hiswilderness with twenty other devils worse than the first. "IfCottar only knew it, half the women in the station would give theireyes--confound 'em!--to have the young un in tow. "

"That accounts for Mrs. Elery sayin' I was workin' my nice new boy toohard, " said a wing commander. 

"Oh, yes; and 'Why doesn't he come to the bandstand in the evenings?'and 'Can't I get him to make up a four at tennis with the Hammongirls?'" the adjutant snorted. "Look at young Davies makin' an ass ofhimself over mutton-dressed-as-lamb old enough to be his mother!"

"No one can accuse young Cottar of runnin' after women, white orblack, " the major replied thoughtfully. "But, then, that's the kind thatgenerally goes the worst mucker in the end. "

"Not Cottar. I've only run across one of his muster before--a fellowcalled Ingles, in South Africa. He was just the same hard trained, athletic-sports build of animal. Always kept himself in the pink ofcondition. Didn't do him much good, though. 'Shot at Wesselstroom theweek before Majuba. Wonder how the young un will lick his detachmentinto shape. "

Cottar turned up six weeks later, on foot, with his pupils. He nevertold his experiences, but the men spoke enthusiastically, and fragmentsof it leaked back to the colonel through sergeants, batmen, and thelike. 

There was great jealousy between the first and second detachments, butthe men united in adoring Cottar, and their way of showing it was bysparing him all the trouble that men know how to make for an unlovedofficer. He sought popularity as little as he had sought it at school, and therefore it came to him. He favoured no one--not even when thecompany sloven pulled the company cricket-match out of the fire with anunexpected forty-three at the last moment. There was very little gettinground him, for he seemed to know by instinct exactly when and where tohead off a malingerer; but he did not forget that the differencebetween a dazed and sulky junior of the upper school and a bewildered, browbeaten lump of a private fresh from the depot was very small indeed. The sergeants, seeing these things, told him secrets generally hid fromyoung officers. His words were quoted as barrack authority on bets incanteen and at tea; and the veriest shrew of the corps, bursting withcharges against other women who had used the cooking-ranges out of turn, forbore to speak when Cottar, as the regulations ordained, asked of amorning if there were "any complaints. "

"I'm full o' complaints, " said Mrs. Corporal Morrison, "an' I'd killO'Halloran's fat sow of a wife any day, but ye know how it is. 'Eputs 'is head just inside the door, an' looks down 'is blessed nose sobashful, an' 'e whispers, 'Any complaints' Ye can't complain after that. I want to kiss him. Some day I think I will. Heigh-ho! she'll be a luckywoman that gets Young Innocence. See 'im now, girls. Do ye blame me?"

Cottar was cantering across to polo, and he looked a very satisfactoryfigure of a man as he gave easily to the first excited bucks of hispony, and slipped over a low mud wall to the practice-ground. There weremore than Mrs. Corporal Morrison who felt as she did. But Cottar wasbusy for eleven hours of the day. He did not care to have his tennisspoiled by petticoats in the court; and after one long afternoon ata garden-party, he explained to his major that this sort of thing was"futile priffle, " and the major laughed. Theirs was not a married mess, except for the colonel's wife, and Cottar stood in awe of the good lady. She said "my regiment, " and the world knows what that means. Nonethe less when they wanted her to give away the prizes after ashooting-match, and she refused because one of the prize-winners wasmarried to a girl who had made a jest of her behind her broad back, themess ordered Cottar to "tackle her, " in his best calling-kit. This hedid, simply and laboriously, and she gave way altogether. 

"She only wanted to know the facts of the case, " he explained. "I justtold her, and she saw at once. "

"Ye-es, " said the adjutant. "I expect that's what she did. Comin' to theFusiliers' dance to-night, Galahad?"

"No, thanks. I've got a fight on with the major. " The virtuousapprentice sat up till midnight in the major's quarters, with astop-watch and a pair of compasses, shifting little painted lead-blocksabout a four-inch map. 

Then he turned in and slept the sleep of innocence, which is fullof healthy dreams. One peculiarity of his dreams he noticed at thebeginning of his second hot weather. Two or three times a monththey duplicated or ran in series. He would find himself sliding intodreamland by the same road--a road that ran along a beach near a pile ofbrushwood. To the right lay the sea, sometimes at full tide, sometimeswithdrawn to the very horizon; but he knew it for the same sea. By thatroad he would travel over a swell of rising ground covered with short, withered grass, into valleys of wonder and unreason. Beyond the ridge, which was crowned with some sort of street-lamp, anything was possible;but up to the lamp it seemed to him that he knew the road as well as heknew the parade-ground. He learned to look forward to the place; for, once there, he was sure of a good night's rest, and Indian hot weathercan be rather trying. First, shadowy under closing eyelids, wouldcome the outline of the brushwood-pile; next the white sand of thebeach-road, almost overhanging the black, changeful sea; then the turninland and uphill to the single light. When he was unrestful for anyreason, he would tell himself how he was sure to get there--sure to getthere--if he shut his eyes and surrendered to the drift of things. Butone night after a foolishly hard hour's polo (the thermometer was 94°in his quarters at ten o'clock), sleep stood away from him altogether, though he did his best to find the well-known road, the point where truesleep began. At last he saw the brushwood-pile, and hurried along tothe ridge, for behind him he felt was the wide-awake, sultry world. He reached the lamp in safety, tingling with drowsiness, when apoliceman--a common country policeman--sprang up before him and touchedhim on the shoulder ere he could dive into the dim valley below. He wasfilled with terror, --the hopeless terror of dreams, --for the policemansaid, in the awful, distinct voice of dream-people, "I am Policeman Daycoming back from the City of Sleep. You come with me. " Georgie knew itwas true--that just beyond him in the valley lay the lights of theCity of Sleep, where he would have been sheltered, and that thisPoliceman-Thing had full power and authority to head him back tomiserable wakefulness. He found himself looking at the moonlight on thewall, dripping with fright; and he never overcame that horror, though hemet the Policeman several times that hot weather, and his coming was theforerunner of a bad night. 

But other dreams-perfectly absurd ones-filled him with an incommunicabledelight. All those that he remembered began by the brushwood-pile. Forinstance, he found a small clockwork steamer (he had noticed it manynights before) lying by the sea-road, and stepped into it, whereupon itmoved with surpassing swiftness over an absolutely level sea. This wasglorious, for he felt he was exploring great matters; and it stoppedby a lily carved in stone, which, most naturally, floated on the water. Seeing the lily was labelled "Hong-Kong, " Georgie said: "Of course. Thisis precisely what I expected Hong-Kong would be like. How magnificent!"Thousands of miles farther on it halted at yet another stone lily, labelled "Java. "; and this, again, delighted him hugely, because he knewthat now he was at the world's end. But the little boat ran on and ontill it lay in a deep fresh-water lock, the sides of which were carvenmarble, green with moss. Lilypads lay on the water, and reeds archedabove. Some one moved among the reeds--some one whom Georgie knew hehad travelled to this world's end to reach. Therefore everything wasentirely well with him. He was unspeakably happy, and vaulted over theship's side to find this person. When his feet touched that still water, it changed, with the rustle of unrolling maps, to nothing less than asixth quarter of the globe, beyond the most remote imagining of man--aplace where islands were coloured yellow and blue, their letteringstrung across their faces. They gave on unknown seas, and Georgie'surgent desire was to return swiftly across this floating atlas to knownbearings. He told himself repeatedly that it was no good to hurry; butstill he hurried desperately, and the islands slipped and slid under hisfeet; the straits yawned and widened, till he found himself utterlylost in the world's fourth dimension, with no hope of return. Yet onlya little distance away he could see the old world with the rivers andmountain-chains marked according to the Sandhurst rules of mapmaking. Then that person for whom he had come to the Lily Lock (that was itsname) ran up across unexplored territories, and showed him away. Theyfled hand in hand till they reached a road that spanned ravines, and ranalong the edge of precipices, and was tunnelled through mountains. "Thisgoes to our brushwood-pile, " said his companion; and all his troublewas at an end. He took a pony, because he understood that this wasthe Thirty-Mile Ride and he must ride swiftly, and raced through theclattering tunnels and round the curves, always downhill, till he heardthe sea to his left, and saw it raging under a full moon, against sandycliffs. It was heavy going, but he recognised the nature of the country, the dark-purple downs inland, and the bents that whistled in the wind. The road was eaten away in places, and the sea lashed at him-black, foamless tongues of smooth and glossy rollers; but he was sure thatthere was less danger from the sea than from "Them, " whoever "They"were, inland to his right. He knew, too, that he would be safe if hecould reach the down with the lamp on it. This came as he expected: hesaw the one light a mile ahead along the beach, dismounted, turned tothe right, walked quietly over to the brushwood-pile, found the littlesteamer had returned to the beach whence he had unmoored it, and--musthave fallen asleep, for he could remember no more. "I'm gettin' the hangof the geography of that place, " he said to himself, as he shavednext morning. "I must have made some sort of circle. Let's see. TheThirty-Mile Ride (now how the deuce did I know it was called theThirty-Mile, Ride?) joins the sea-road beyond the first down where thelamp is. And that atlas-country lies at the back of the Thirty-MileRide, somewhere out to the right beyond the hills and tunnels. Rummythings, dreams. 'Wonder what makes mine fit into each other so?"

He continued on his solid way through the recurring duties of theseasons. The regiment was shifted to another station, and he enjoyedroad-marching for two months, with a good deal of mixed shooting thrownin, and when they reached their new cantonments he became a member ofthe local Tent Club, and chased the mighty boar on horseback with ashort stabbing-spear. There he met the mahseer of the Poonch, besidewhom the tarpon is as a herring, and he who lands him can say that he isa fisherman. This was as new and as fascinating as the big-game shootingthat fell to his portion, when he had himself photographed for themother's benefit, sitting on the flank of his first tiger. 

Then the adjutant was promoted, and Cottar rejoiced with him, for headmired the adjutant greatly, and marvelled who might be big enough tofill his place; so that he nearly collapsed when the mantle fell on hisown shoulders, and the colonel said a few sweet things that made himblush. An adjutant's position does not differ materially from that ofhead of the school, and Cottar stood in the same relation to the colonelas he had to his old Head in England. Only, tempers wear out in hotweather, and things were said and done that tried him sorely, and hemade glorious blunders, from which the regimental sergeant-major pulledhim with a loyal soul and a shut mouth. Slovens and incompetentsraged against him; the weak-minded strove to lure him from the ways ofjustice; the small-minded--yea, men whom Cottar believed would neverdo "things no fellow can do"--imputed motives mean and circuitous toactions that he had not spent a thought upon; and he tasted injustice, and it made him very sick. But his consolation came on parade, when helooked down the full companies, and reflected how few were in hospitalor cells, and wondered when the time would come to try the machine ofhis love and labour. 

But they needed and expected the whole of a man's working-day, and maybethree or four hours of the night. Curiously enough, he never dreamedabout the regiment as he was popularly supposed to. The mind, set freefrom the day's doings, generally ceased working altogether, or, if itmoved at all, carried him along the old beach-road to the downs, thelamp-post, and, once in a while, to terrible Policeman Day. The secondtime that he returned to the world's lost continent (this was a dreamthat repeated itself again and again, with variations, on the sameground) he knew that if he only sat still the person from the Lily Lockwould help him, and he was not disappointed. Sometimes he was trapped inmines of vast depth hollowed out of the heart of the world, where menin torment chanted echoing songs; and he heard this person coming alongthrough the galleries, and everything was made safe and delightful. Theymet again in low-roofed Indian railway-carriages that halted in agarden surrounded by gilt-and-green railings, where a mob of stony whitepeople, all unfriendly, sat at breakfast-tables covered with roses, and separated Georgie from his companion, while underground voices sangdeep-voiced songs. Georgie was filled with enormous despair till theytwo met again. They foregathered in the middle of an endless, hot tropicnight, and crept into a huge house that stood, he knew, somewhere northof the railway-station where the people ate among the roses. It wassurrounded with gardens, all moist and dripping; and in one room, reached through leagues of whitewashed passages, a Sick Thing lay inbed. Now the least noise, Georgie knew, would unchain some waitinghorror, and his companion knew it, too; but when their eyes met acrossthe bed, Georgie was disgusted to see that she was a child--a littlegirl in strapped shoes, with her black hair combed back from herforehead. 

"What disgraceful folly!" he thought. "Now she could do nothing whateverif Its head came off. "

Then the Thing coughed, and the ceiling shattered down in plaster on themosquito-netting, and "They" rushed in from all quarters. He dragged thechild through the stifling garden, voices chanting behind them, and theyrode the Thirty-Mile Ride under whip and spur along the sandy beach bythe booming sea, till they came to the downs, the lamp-post, and thebrushwood-pile, which was safety. Very often dreams would break upabout them in this fashion, and they would be separated, to endure awfuladventures alone. But the most amusing times were when he and she hada clear understanding that it was all make-believe, and walked throughmile-wide roaring rivers without even taking off their shoes, or setlight to populous cities to see how they would burn, and were rude asany children to the vague shadows met in their rambles. Later in thenight they were sure to suffer for this, either at the hands of theRailway People eating among the roses, or in the tropic uplands at thefar end of the Thirty-Mile Ride. Together, this did no much affrightthem; but often Georgie would hear her shrill cry of "Boy! Boy!" half aworld away, and hurry to her rescue before "They" maltreated her. 

He and she explored the dark-purple downs as far inland from thebrushwood-pile as they dared, but that was always a dangerous matter. The interior was filled with "Them, " and "They" went about singing inthe hollows, and Georgie and she felt safer on or near the seaboard. Sothoroughly had he come to know the place of his dreams that even wakinghe accepted it as a real country, and made a rough sketch of it. He kepthis own counsel, of course; but the permanence of the land puzzled him. His ordinary dreams were as formless and as fleeting as any healthydreams could be, but once at the brushwood-pile he moved within knownlimits and could see where he was going. There were months at a timewhen nothing notable crossed his sleep. Then the dreams would come ina batch of five or six, and next morning the map that he kept inhis writing case would be written up to date, for Georgie was a mostmethodical person. There was, indeed, a danger--his seniors said so--ofhis developing into a regular "Auntie Fuss" of an adjutant, and when anofficer once takes to old-maidism there is more hope for the virgin ofseventy than for him. 

But fate sent the change that was needed, in the shape of a littlewinter campaign on the Border, which, after the manner of littlecampaigns, flashed out into a very ugly war; and Cottar's regiment waschosen among the first. 

"Now, " said a major, "this'll shake the cobwebs out ofus all--especially you, Galahad; and we can see what yourhen-with-one-chick attitude has done for the regiment. "

Cottar nearly wept with joy as the campaign went forward. They werefit--physically fit beyond the other troops; they were good children incamp, wet or dry, fed or unfed; and they followed their officers withthe quick suppleness and trained obedience of a first-class foot-ballfifteen. They were cut off from their apology for a base, and cheerfullycut their way back to it again; they crowned and cleaned out hills fullof the enemy with the precision of well-broken dogs of chase; and in thehour of retreat, when, hampered with the sick and wounded of the column, they were persecuted down eleven miles of waterless valley, they, serving as rearguard, covered themselves with a great glory in the eyesof fellow-professionals. Any regiment can advance, but few know how toretreat with a sting in the tail. Then they turned to made roads, mostoften under fire, and dismantled some inconvenient mud redoubts. Theywere the last corps to be withdrawn when the rubbish of the campaignwas all swept up; and after a month in standing camp, which tries moralsseverely, they departed to their own place in column of fours, singing:

 "'E's goin' to do without 'em-- Don't want 'em any more; 'E's goin' to do without 'em, As 'e's often done before. 'E's goin' to be a martyr On a 'ighly novel plan, An' all the boys and girls will say, 'Ow! what a nice young man-man-man! Ow! what a nice young man!'"

There came out a "Gazette" in which Cottar found that he had beenbehaving with "courage and coolness and discretion" in all hiscapacities; that he had assisted the wounded under fire, and blown in agate, also under fire. Net result, his captaincy and a brevet majority, coupled with the Distinguished Service Order. 

As to his wounded, he explained that they were both heavy men, whomhe could lift more easily than any one else. "Otherwise, of course, I should have sent out one of my men; and, of course, about that gatebusiness, we were safe the minute we were well under the walls. " Butthis did not prevent his men from cheering him furiously wheneverthey saw him, or the mess from giving him a dinner on the eve of hisdeparture to England. (A year's leave was among the things he had"snaffled out of the campaign, " I to use his own words. ) The doctor, whohad taken quite as much as was good for him, quoted poetry about "a goodblade carving the casques of men, " and so on, and everybody told Cottarthat he was an excellent person; but when he rose to make his maidenspeech they shouted so that he was understood to say, "It isn't any usetryin' to speak with you chaps rottin' me like this. Let's have somepool. "

 * * * * *

It is not unpleasant to spend eight-and-twenty days in an easy-goingsteamer on warm waters, in the company of a woman who lets you seethat you are head and shoulders superior to the rest of the world, eventhough that woman may be, and most often is, ten counted years yoursenior. P. O. Boats are not lighted with the disgustful particularity ofAtlantic liners. There is more phosphorescence at the bows, and greatersilence and darkness by the hand-steering gear aft. 

Awful things might have happened to Georgie but for the little fact thathe had never studied the first principles of the game he was expected toplay. So when Mrs. Zuleika, at Aden, told him how motherly an interestshe felt in his welfare, medals, brevet, and all, Georgie took her atthe foot of the letter, and promptly talked of his own mother, threehundred miles nearer each day, of his home, and so forth, all the way upthe Red Sea. It was much easier than he had supposed to converse witha woman for an hour at a time. Then Mrs. Zuleika, turning from parentalaffection, spoke of love in the abstract as a thing not unworthy ofstudy, and in discreet twilights after dinner demanded confidences. Georgie would have been delighted to supply them, but he had none, anddid not know it was his duty to manufacture them. Mrs. Zuleika expressedsurprise and unbelief, and asked--those questions which deep asks ofdeep. She learned all that was necessary to conviction, and, being verymuch a woman, resumed (Georgie never knew that she had abandoned) themotherly attitude. 

"Do you know, " she said, somewhere in the Mediterranean, "I think you'rethe very dearest boy I have ever met in my life, and I'd like you toremember me a little. You will when you are older, but I want you toremember me now. You'll make some girl very happy. "

"Oh! Hope so, " said Georgie, gravely; "but there's heaps of time formarryin' an' all that sort of thing, ain't there?"

"That depends. Here are your bean-bags for the Ladies' Competition. Ithink I'm growing too old to care for these tamashas. "

They were getting up sports, and Georgie was on the committee. He nevernoticed how perfectly the bags were sewn, but another woman did, andsmiled--once. He liked Mrs. Zuleika greatly. She was a bit old, ofcourse, but uncommonly nice. There was no nonsense about her. 

A few nights after they passed Gibraltar his dream returned to him. She who waited by the brushwood-pile was no longer a little girl, but awoman with black hair that grew into a "widow's peak, " combed back fromher forehead. He knew her for the child in black, the companion of thelast six years, and, as it had been in the time of the meetings on theLost Continent, he was filled with delight unspeakable. "They, " for somedreamland reason, were friendly or had gone away that night, and the twoflitted together over all their country, from the brushwood-pile up theThirty-Mile Ride, till they saw the House of the Sick Thing, a pin-pointin the distance to the left; stamped through the Railway Waiting-roomwhere the roses lay on the spread breakfast-tables; and returned, by theford and the city they had once burned for sport, to the great swellsof the downs under the lamp-post. Wherever they moved a strong singingfollowed them underground, but this night there was no panic. All theland was empty except for themselves, and at the last (they were sittingby the lamp-post hand in hand) she turned and kissed him. He woke with astart, staring at the waving curtain of the cabin door; he could almosthave sworn that the kiss was real. 

Next morning the ship was rolling in a Biscay sea, and people were nothappy; but as Georgie came to breakfast, shaven, tubbed, and smelling ofsoap, several turned to look at him because of the light in his eyes andthe splendour of his countenance. 

"Well, you look beastly fit, " snapped a neighbour. "Any one left you alegacy in the middle of the Bay?"

Georgie reached for the curry, with a seraphic grin. "I suppose it'sthe gettin' so near home, and all that. I do feel rather festive thismornin. 'Rolls a bit, doesn't she?"

Mrs. Zuleika stayed in her cabin till the end of the voyage, whenshe left without bidding him farewell, and wept passionately on thedock-head for pure joy of meeting her children, who, she had often said, were so like their father. 

Georgie headed for his own country, wild with delight of his first longfurlough after the lean seasons. Nothing was changed in that orderlylife, from the coachman who met him at the station to the white peacockthat stormed at the carriage from the stone wall above the shaven lawns. The house took toll of him with due regard to precedence--first themother; then the father; then the housekeeper, who wept and praised God;then the butler, and so on down to the under-keeper, who had been dogboyin Georgie's youth, and called him "Master Georgie, " and was reproved bythe groom who had taught Georgie to ride. 

"Not a thing changed, " he sighed contentedly, when the three of them satdown to dinner in the late sunlight, while the rabbits crept out uponthe lawn below the cedars, and the big trout in the ponds by the homepaddock rose for their evening meal. 

"Our changes are all over, dear, " cooed the mother; "and now I amgetting used to your size and your tan (you're very brown, Georgie), Isee you haven't changed in the least. You're exactly like the pater. "

The father beamed on this man after his own heart, --"youngest major inthe army, and should have had the V. C. , sir, "--and the butler listenedwith his professional mask off when Master Georgie spoke of war as it iswaged to-day, and his father cross-questioned. 

They went out on the terrace to smoke among the roses, and the shadowof the old house lay long across the wonderful English foliage, which isthe only living green in the world. 

"Perfect! By Jove, it's perfect!" Georgie was looking at theround-bosomed woods beyond the home paddock, where the white pheasantboxes were ranged; and the golden air was full of a hundred sacredscents and sounds. Georgie felt his father's arm tighten in his. 

"It's not half bad--but hodie mihi, cras tibi, isn't it? I supposeyou'll be turning up some fine day with a girl under your arm, if youhaven't one now, eh?"

"You can make your mind easy, sir. I haven't one. "

"Not in all these years?" said the mother. 

"I hadn't time, mummy. They keep a man pretty busy, these days, in theservice, and most of our mess are unmarried, too. "

"But you must have met hundreds in society--at balls, and so on?"

"I'm like the Tenth, mummy: I don't dance. "

"Don't dance! What have you been doing with yourself, then--backingother men's bills?" said the father. 

"Oh, yes; I've done a little of that too; but you see, as things arenow, a man has all his work cut out for him to keep abreast of hisprofession, and my days were always too full to let me lark about halfthe night. "

"Hmm!"--suspiciously. 

"It's never too late to learn. We ought to give some kind ofhousewarming for the people about, now you've come back. Unless you wantto go straight up to town, dear?"

"No. I don't want anything better than this. Let's sit still and enjoyourselves. I suppose there will be something for me to ride if I lookfor it?"

"Seeing I've been kept down to the old brown pair for the last six weeksbecause all the others were being got ready for Master Georgie, I shouldsay there might be, " the father chuckled. "They're reminding me in ahundred ways that I must take the second place now. "

"Brutes!"

"The pater doesn't mean it, dear; but every one has been trying to makeyour home-coming a success; and you do like it, don't you?"

"Perfect! Perfect! There's no place like England--when you 've done yourwork. "

"That's the proper way to look at it, my son. "

And so up and down the flagged walk till their shadows grew long in themoonlight, and the mother went indoors and played such songs as a smallboy once clamoured for, and the squat silver candlesticks were broughtin, and Georgie climbed to the two rooms in the west wing that had beenhis nursery and his playroom in the beginning. Then who should come totuck him up for the night but the mother? And she sat down on the bed, and they talked for a long hour, as mother and son should, if there isto be any future for the Empire. With a simple woman's deep guile sheasked questions and suggested answers that should have waked some signin the face on the pillow, and there was neither quiver of eyelid norquickening of breath, neither evasion nor delay in reply. So sheblessed him and kissed him on the mouth, which is not always a mother'sproperty, and said something to her husband later, at which he laughedprofane and incredulous laughs. 

All the establishment waited on Georgie next morning, from the tallestsix-year-old, "with a mouth like a kid glove, Master Georgie, " to theunder-keeper strolling carelessly along the horizon, Georgie's pet rodin his hand, and "There's a four-pounder risin' below the lasher. Youdon't 'ave 'em in Injia, Mast-Major Georgie. " It was all beautifulbeyond telling, even though the mother insisted on taking him out in thelandau (the leather had the hot Sunday smell of his youth) and showinghim off to her friends at all the houses for six miles round; and thepater bore him up to town and a lunch at the club, where he introducedhim, quite carelessly, to not less than thirty ancient warriors whosesons were not the youngest majors in the army and had not the D. S. O. After that it was Georgie's turn; and remembering his friends, he filledup the house with that kind of officer who live in cheap lodgings atSouthsea or Montpelier Square, Brompton--good men all, but not well off. The mother perceived that they needed girls to play with; and as therewas no scarcity of girls, the house hummed like a dovecote in spring. They tore up the place for amateur theatricals; they disappeared in thegardens when they ought to have been rehearsing; they swept off everyavailable horse and vehicle, especially the governess-cart and the fatpony; they fell into the trout-ponds; they picnicked and they tennised;and they sat on gates in the twilight, two by two, and Georgie foundthat he was not in the least necessary to their entertainment. 

"My word!" said he, when he saw the last of their dear backs. "They toldme they've enjoyed 'emselves, but they haven't done half the things theysaid they would. "

"I know they've enjoyed themselves--immensely, " said the mother. "You'rea public benefactor, dear. "

"Now we can be quiet again, can't we?"

"Oh, quite. I've a very dear friend of mine that I want you to know. Shecouldn't come with the house so full, because she's an invalid, and shewas away when you first came. She's a Mrs. Lacy. "

"Lacy! I don't remember the name about here. "

"No; they came after you went to India--from Oxford. Her husband diedthere, and she lost some money, I believe. They bought The Firs on theBassett Road. She's a very sweet woman, and we're very fond of themboth. "

"She's a widow, didn't you say?"

"She has a daughter. Surely I said so, dear?"

"Does she fall into trout-ponds, and gas and giggle, and 'Oh, MajorCottah!' and all that sort of thing?"

"No, indeed. She's a very quiet girl, and very musical. She always cameover here with her music-books--composing, you know; and she generallyworks all day, so you won't--"

"'Talking about Miriam?" said the pater, coming up. The mother edgedtoward him within elbow-reach. There was no finesse about Georgie'sfather. "Oh, Miriam's a dear girl. Plays beautifully. Rides beautifully, too. She's a regular pet of the household. Used to call me--" The elbowwent home, and ignorant but obedient always, the pater shut himself off. 

"What used she to call you, sir?"

"All sorts of pet names. I'm very fond of Miriam. "

"Sounds Jewish--Miriam. "

"Jew! You'll be calling yourself a Jew next. She's one of theHerefordshire Lacys. When her aunt dies--" Again the elbow. 

"Oh, you won't see anything of her, Georgie. She's busy with her musicor her mother all day. Besides, you're going up to town tomorrow, aren'tyou? I thought you said something about an Institute meeting?" Themother spoke. 

"Go up to town now! What nonsense!" Once more the pater was shut off. 

"I had some idea of it, but I'm not quite sure, " said the son of thehouse. Why did the mother try to get him away because a musical girl andher invalid parent were expected? He did not approve of unknown femalescalling his father pet names. He would observe these pushing persons whohad been only seven years in the county. 

All of which the delighted mother read in his countenance, herselfkeeping an air of sweet disinterestedness. 

"They'll be here this evening for dinner. I'm sending the carriage overfor them, and they won't stay more than a week. "

"Perhaps I shall go up to town. I don't quite know yet. " Georgie movedaway irresolutely. There was a lecture at the United Services Instituteon the supply of ammunition in the field, and the one man whose theoriesmost irritated Major Cottar would deliver it. A heated discussion wassure to follow, and perhaps he might find himself moved to speak. Hetook his rod that afternoon and went down to thrash it out among thetrout. 

"Good sport, dear!" said the mother, from the terrace. 

"Fraid it won't be, mummy. All those men from town, and the girlsparticularly, have put every trout off his feed for weeks. There isn'tone of 'em that cares for fishin'--really. Fancy stampin' and shoutin'on the bank, and tellin' every fish for half a mile exactly what you'regoin' to do, and then chuckin' a brute of a fly at him! By Jove, itwould scare me if I was a trout!"

But things were not as bad as he had expected. The black gnat was on thewater, and the water was strictly preserved. A three-quarter-pounderat the second cast set him for the campaign, and he worked down-stream, crouching behind the reed and meadowsweet; creeping between a hornbeamhedge and a foot-wide strip of bank, where he could see the trout, butwhere they could not distinguish him from the background; lying almoston his stomach to switch the blue-upright sidewise through the checkeredshadows of a gravelly ripple under overarching trees. But he had knownevery inch of the water since he was four feet high. The aged and astutebetween sunk roots, with the large and fat that lay in the frothy scumbelow some strong rush of water, sucking as lazily as carp, came totrouble in their turn, at the hand that imitated so delicately theflicker and wimple of an egg-dropping fly. Consequently, Georgie foundhimself five miles from home when he ought to have been dressing fordinner. The housekeeper had taken good care that her boy should not goempty, and before he changed to the white moth he sat down to excellentclaret with sandwiches of potted egg and things that adoring women makeand men never notice. Then back, to surprise the otter grubbing forfresh-water mussels, the rabbits on the edge of the beechwoods foragingin the clover, and the policeman-like white owl stooping to the littlefieldmice, till the moon was strong, and he took his rod apart, and wenthome through well-remembered gaps in the hedges. He fetched a compassround the house, for, though he might have broken every law of theestablishment every hour, the law of his boyhood was unbreakable: afterfishing you went in by the south garden back-door, cleaned up in theouter scullery, and did not present yourself to your elders and yourbetters till you had washed and changed. 

"Half-past ten, by Jove! Well, we'll make the sport an excuse. Theywouldn't want to see me the first evening, at any rate. Gone to bed, probably. " He skirted by the open French windows of the drawing-room. "No, they haven't. They look very comfy in there. "

He could see his father in his own particular chair, the mother inhers, and the back of a girl at the piano by the big potpourri-jar. Thegardens looked half divine in the moonlight, and he turned down throughthe roses to finish his pipe. 

A prelude-ended, and there floated out a voice of the kind that in hischildhood he used to call "creamy" a full, true contralto; and this isthe song that he heard, every syllable of it:

 Over the edge of the purple down, Where the single lamplight gleams, Know ye the road to the Merciful Town That is hard by the Sea of Dreams-- Where the poor may lay their wrongs away, And the sick may forget to weep? But we--pity us! Oh, pity us! We wakeful; ah, pity us!-- We must go back with Policeman Day-- Back from the City of Sleep!

 Weary they turn from the scroll and crown, Fetter and prayer and plough They that go up to the Merciful Town, For her gates are closing now. It is their right in the Baths of Night Body and soul to steep But we--pity us! ah, pity us! We wakeful; oh, pity us!-- We must go back with Policeman Day-- Back from the City of Sleep!

 Over the edge of the purple down, Ere the tender dreams begin, Look--we may look--at the Merciful Town, But we may not enter in! Outcasts all, from her guarded wall Back to our watch we creep: We--pity us! ah, pity us! We wakeful; oh, pity us!-- We that go back with Policeman Day-- Back from the City of Sleep

At the last echo he was aware that his mouth was dry and unknown pulseswere beating in the roof of it. The housekeeper, who would have it thathe must have fallen in and caught a chill, was waiting to catch him onthe stairs, and, since he neither saw nor answered her, carried a wildtale abroad that brought his mother knocking at the door. 

"Anything happened, dear? Harper said she thought you weren't--"

"No; it's nothing. I'm all right, mummy. Please don't bother. "

He did not recognise his own voice, but that was a small matterbeside what he was considering. Obviously, most obviously, the wholecoincidence was crazy lunacy. He proved it to the satisfaction of MajorGeorge Cottar, who was going up to town to-morrow to hear a lecture onthe supply of ammunition in the field; and having so proved it, the souland brain and heart and body of Georgie cried joyously: "That's theLily Lock girl--the Lost Continent girl--the Thirty-Mile Ride girl--theBrushwood girl! I know her!"

He waked, stiff and cramped in his chair, to reconsider the situation bysunlight, when it did not appear normal. But a man must eat, and he wentto breakfast, his heart between his teeth, holding himself severely inhand. 

"Late, as usual, " said the mother. "'My boy, Miss Lacy. "

A tall girl in black raised her eyes to his, and Georgie's life trainingdeserted him--just as soon as he realised that she did not know. Hestared coolly and critically. There was the abundant black hair, growingin a widow's peak, turned back from the forehead, with that peculiarripple over the right ear; there were the grey eyes set a little closetogether; the short upper lip, resolute chin, and the known poise of thehead. There was also the small well-cut mouth that had kissed him. 

"Georgie--dear!" said the mother, amazedly, for Miriam was flushingunder the stare. 

"I--I beg your pardon!" he gulped. "I don't know whether the mother hastold you, but I'm rather an idiot at times, specially before I've had mybreakfast. It's--it's a family failing. " He turned to explore among thehot-water dishes on the sideboard, rejoicing that she did not know--shedid not know. 

His conversation for the rest of the meal was mildly insane, though themother thought she had never seen her boy look half so handsome. Howcould any girl, least of all one of Miriam's discernment, forbear tofall down and worship? But deeply Miriam was displeased. She had neverbeen stared at in that fashion before, and promptly retired into hershell when Georgie announced that he had changed his mind about going totown, and would stay to play with Miss Lacy if she had nothing better todo. 

"Oh, but don't let me throw you out. I'm at work. I've things to do allthe morning. "

"What possessed Georgie to behave so oddly?" the mother sighed toherself. "Miriam's a bundle of feelings--like her mother. "

"You compose--don't you? Must be a fine thing to be able to do that. ['Pig-oh, pig!' thought Miriam. ] I think I heard you singin' when I camein last night after fishin'. All about a Sea of Dreams, wasn't it?[Miriam shuddered to the core of the soul that afflicted her. ] Awfullypretty song. How d' you think of such things?"

"You only composed the music, dear, didn't you?"

"The words too. I'm sure of it, " said Georgie, with a sparkling eye. No;she did not know. 

"Yeth; I wrote the words too. " Miriam spoke slowly, for she knew shelisped when she was nervous. 

"Now how could you tell, Georgie?" said the mother, as delighted asthough the youngest major in the army were ten years old, showing offbefore company. 

"I was sure of it, somehow. Oh, there are heaps of things about me, mummy, that you don't understand. Looks as if it were goin' to be a hotday--for England. Would you care for a ride this afternoon, Miss Lacy?We can start out after tea, if you'd like it. "

Miriam could not in decency refuse, but any woman might see she was notfilled with delight. 

"That will be very nice, if you take the Bassett Road. It will save mesending Martin down to the village, " said the mother, filling in gaps. 

Like all good managers, the mother had her one weakness--a maniafor little strategies that should economise horses and vehicles. Hermen-folk complained that she turned them into common carriers, and therewas a legend in the family that she had once said to the pater on themorning of a meet: "If you should kill near Bassett, dear, and if itisn't too late, would you mind just popping over and matching me this?"

"I knew that was coming. You'd never miss a chance, mother. If it's afish or a trunk I won't. " Georgie laughed. 

"It's only a duck. They can do it up very neatly at Mallett's, " said themother, simply. "You won't mind, will you? We'll have a scratch dinnerat nine, because it's so hot. "

The long summer day dragged itself out for centuries; but at last therewas tea on the lawn, and Miriam appeared. 

She was in the saddle before he could offer to help, with the cleanspring of the child who mounted the pony for the Thirty-Mile Ride. The day held mercilessly, though Georgie got down thrice to look forimaginary stones in Rufus's foot. One cannot say even simple things inbroad light, and this that Georgie meditated was not simple. So he spokeseldom, and Miriam was divided between relief and scorn. It annoyed herthat the great hulking thing should know she had written the words ofthe song overnight; for though a maiden may sing her most secretfancies aloud, she does not care to have them trampled over by the malePhilistine. They rode into the little red-brick street of Bassett, andGeorgie made untold fuss over the disposition of that duck. It must goin just such a package, and be fastened to the saddle in just such amanner, though eight o'clock had struck and they were miles from dinner. 

"We must be quick!" said Miriam, bored and angry. 

"There's no great hurry; but we can cut over Dowhead Down, and let 'emout on the grass. That will save us half an hour. "

The horses capered on the short, sweet-smelling turf, and the delayingshadows gathered in the valley as they cantered over the great dun downthat overhangs Bassett and the Western coaching-road. Insensibly thepace quickened without thought of mole-hills; Rufus, gentleman that hewas, waiting on Miriam's Dandy till they should have cleared the rise. Then down the two-mile slope they raced together, the wind whistling intheir ears, to the steady throb of eight hoofs and the light click-clickof the shifting bits. 

"Oh, that was glorious!" Miriam cried, reining in. "Dandy and I are oldfriends, but I don't think we've ever gone better together. "

"No; but you've gone quicker, once or twice. "

"Really? When?"

Georgie moistened his lips. "Don't you remember the Thirty-MileRide--with me--when 'They' were after us--on the beach-road, with thesea to the left--going toward the lamp-post on the downs?"

The girl gasped. "What--what do you mean?" she said hysterically. 

"The Thirty-Mile Ride, and--and all the rest of it. "

"You mean--? I didn't sing anything about the Thirty-Mile Ride. I know Ididn't. I have never told a living soul. '"

"You told about Policeman Day, and the lamp at the top of the downs, andthe City of Sleep. It all joins on, you know--it's the same country--andit was easy enough to see where you had been. "

"Good God!--It joins on--of course it does; but--I have been--you havebeen--Oh, let's walk, please, or I shall fall off!"

Georgie ranged alongside, and laid a hand that shook below herbridle-hand, pulling Dandy into a walk. Miriam was sobbing as he hadseen a man sob under the touch of the bullet. 

"It's all right--it's all right, " he whispered feebly. "Only--only it'strue, you know. "

"True! Am I mad?"

"Not unless I'm mad as well. Do try to think a minute quietly. How couldany one conceivably know anything about the Thirty-Mile Ride havinganything to do with you, unless he had been there?"

"But where? But where? Tell me!"

"There--wherever it may be--in our country, I suppose. Do you rememberthe first time you rode it--the Thirty-Mile Ride, I mean? You must. "

"It was all dreams--all dreams!"

"Yes, but tell, please; because I know. "

"Let me think. I--we were on no account to make any noise--on no accountto make any noise. " She was staring between Dandy's ears, with eyes thatdid not see, and a suffocating heart. 

"Because 'It' was dying in the big house?" Georgie went on, reining inagain. 

"There was a garden with green-and-gilt railings--all hot. Do youremember?"

"I ought to. I was sitting on the other side of the bed before 'It'coughed and 'They' came in. "

"You!"--the deep voice was unnaturally full and strong, and the girl'swide-opened eyes burned in the dusk as she stared him through andthrough. "Then you're the Boy--my Brushwood Boy, and I've known you allmy life!"

She fell forward on Dandy's neck. Georgie forced himself out of theweakness that was overmastering his limbs, and slid an arm round herwaist. The head dropped on his shoulder, and he found himself withparched lips saying things that up till then he believed existed only inprinted works of fiction. Mercifully the horses were quiet. She madeno attempt to draw herself away when she recovered, but lay still, whispering, "Of course you're the Boy, and I didn't know--I didn'tknow. "

"I knew last night; and when I saw you at breakfast--"

"Oh, that was why! I wondered at the time. You would, of course. "

"I couldn't speak before this. Keep your head where it is, dear. It'sall right now--all right now, isn't it?"

"But how was it I didn't know--after all these years and years? Iremember--oh, what lots of things I remember!"

"Tell me some. I'll look after the horses. "

"I remember waiting for you when the steamer came in. Do you?"

"At the Lily Lock, beyond Hong-Kong and Java?"

"Do you call it that, too?"

"You told me it was when I was lost in the continent. That was you thatshowed me the way through the mountains?"

"When the islands slid? It must have been, because you're the only one Iremember. All the others were 'Them. '

"Awful brutes they were, too. "

"I remember showing you the Thirty-Mile Ride the first time. You ridejust as you used to--then. You are you!"

"That's odd. I thought that of you this afternoon. Isn't it wonderful?"

"What does it all mean? Why should you and I of the millions of peoplein the world have this--this thing between us? What does it mean? I'mfrightened. "

"This!" said Georgie. The horses quickened their pace. They thought theyhad heard an order. "Perhaps when we die we may find out more, but itmeans this now. "

There was no answer. What could she say? As the world went, they hadknown each other rather less than eight and a half hours, but the matterwas one that did not concern the world. There was a very long silence, while the breath in their nostrils drew cold and sharp as it might havebeen a fume of ether. 

"That's the second, " Georgie whispered. "You remember, don't you?"

"It's not!"--furiously. "It's not!"

"On the downs the other night-months ago. You were just as you are now, and we went over the country for miles and miles. "

"It was all empty, too. They had gone away. Nobody frightened us. Iwonder why, Boy?"

"Oh, if you remember that, you must remember the rest. Confess!"

"I remember lots of things, but I know I didn't. I never have--till justnow. "

"You did, dear. "

"I know I didn't, because--oh, it's no use keeping anything back!because I truthfully meant to. "

"And truthfully did. "

"No; meant to; but some one else came by. "

"There wasn't any one else. There never has been. "

"There was--there always is. It was another woman--out there--onthe sea. I saw her. It was the 26th of May. I've got it written downsomewhere. "

"Oh, you've kept a record of your dreams, too? That's odd about theother woman, because I happened to be on the sea just then. "

"I was right. How do I know what you've done when you were awake--and Ithought it was only you!"

"You never were more wrong in your life. What a little temper you'vegot! Listen to me a minute, dear. " And Georgie, though he knew it not, committed black perjury. "It--it isn't the kind of thing one says toany one, because they'd laugh; but on my word and honour, darling, I'venever been kissed by a living soul outside my own people in all my life. Don't laugh, dear. I wouldn't tell any one but you, but it's the solemntruth. "

"I knew! You are you. Oh, I knew you'd come some day; but I didn't knowyou were you in the least till you spoke. "

"Then give me another. "

"And you never cared or looked anywhere? Why, all the round world musthave loved you from the very minute they saw you, Boy. "

"They kept it to themselves if they did. No; I never cared. "

"And we shall be late for dinner--horribly late. Oh, how can I look atyou in the light before your mother--and mine!"

"We'll play you're Miss Lacy till the proper time comes. What's theshortest limit for people to get engaged? S'pose we have got to gothrough all the fuss of an engagement, haven't we?"

"Oh, I don't want to talk about that. It's so commonplace. I've thoughtof something that you don't know. I'm sure of it. What's my name?"

"Miri--no, it isn't, by Jove! Wait half a second, and it'll come backto me. You aren't--you can't? Why, those old tales--before I went toschool! I've never thought of 'em from that day to this. Are you theoriginal, only Annieanlouise?"

"It was what you always called me ever since the beginning. Oh! We'veturned into the avenue, and we must be an hour late. "

"What does it matter? The chain goes as far back as those days? It must, of course--of course it must. I've got to ride round with this pestilentold bird-confound him!"

"'"Ha! ha!" said the duck, laughing'--do you remember that?"

"Yes, I do--flower-pots on my feet, and all. We've been together allthis while; and I've got to say good bye to you till dinner. Sure I'llsee you at dinner-time? Sure you won't sneak up to your room, darling, and leave me all the evening? Good-bye, dear--good-bye. "

"Good-bye, Boy, good-bye. Mind the arch! Don't let Rufus bolt into hisstables. Good-bye. Yes, I'll come down to dinner; but--what shall I dowhen I see you in the light!"