“Ye go to the Hills? And by Kulu road? Oh, thrice happy!” shrilled the old lady. “But that I am a little pressed with the care of the homestead I would take palanquin … but that would be shameless, and my reputation would be cracked. Ho! Ho! I know the road—every march of the road I know. Ye will find charity throughout—it is not denied to the well-looking. I will give orders for provision. A servant to set you forth upon your journey? No … Then I will at least cook ye good food.”
“What a woman is the Sahiba!” said the white-bearded Oorya, when a tumult rose by the kitchen quarters. “She has never forgotten a friend: she has never forgotten an enemy in all her years. And her cookery—wah!” He rubbed his slim stomach.
There were cakes, there were sweetmeats, there was cold fowl stewed to rags with rice and prunes—enough to burden Kim like a mule.
“I am old and useless,” she said. “None now love me—and none respect—but there are few to compare with me when I call on the Gods and squat