“I do not need anything,” said Kim, angered where he should have been grateful. “I am already rudely loaded with favours.”
She looked up with a curious smile and laid a hand on his shoulder. “At least, thank me. I am foul-faced and a hillwoman, but, as thy talk goes, I have acquired merit. Shall I show thee how the Sahibs render thanks?” and her hard eyes softened.
“I am but a wandering priest,” said Kim, his eyes lighting in answer. “Thou needest neither my blessings nor my curses.”
“Nay. But for one little moment—thou canst overtake the dooli in ten strides— if thou wast a Sahib, shall I show thee what thou wouldst do?”
“How if I guess, though?” said Kim, and putting his arm round her waist, he kissed her on the cheek, adding in English: “Thank you verree much, my dear.”
Kissing is practically unknown among Asiatics, which may have been the reason that she leaned back with wide-open eyes and a face of panic.
“Next time,” Kim went on, “you must not be so sure of your heatthen priests. Now I say goodbye.” He held out his hand English-fashion. She took it mechanically. “Goodbye, my dear.”
“Goodbye, and—and”—she was remembering her English words one by one—“you will come back again? Goodbye, and—thee God bless you.”
Half an hour later, as the creaking litter jolted up the hill path that leads southeasterly from Shamlegh, Kim saw a tiny figure at the hut door waving a white rag.
“She has acquired merit beyond all others,” said the lama. “For to set a man upon the way to Freedom is half as great as though she had herself found it.”