“Sister,” said the lama, using that form of address a Buddhist monk may sometimes employ towards a nun, “if charms comfort thee—”
“They are better than ten thousand doctors.”
“I say, if they comfort thee, I who was Abbot of Such-zen, will make as many as thou mayest desire. I have never seen thy face—”
“ That even the monkeys who steal our loquats count for a gain. Hee! hee!”
“But as he who sleeps there said,”—he nodded at the shut door of the guest-chamber across the forecourt—“thou hast a heart of gold … And he is in the spirit my very ‘grandson’ to me.”
“Good! I am the Holy One’s cow.” This was pure Hinduism, but the lama never heeded. “I am old. I have borne sons in the body. Oh, once I could please men! Now I can cure them.” He heard her armlets tinkle as though she bared arms for action. “I will take over the boy and dose him, and stuff him, and make him all whole. Hai! hai! We old people know something yet.”
Wherefore when Kim, aching in every bone, opened his eyes, and would go to the cookhouse to get his master’s food, he found strong coercion about him, and a veiled old figure at the door, flanked by the grizzled manservant, who told him very precisely the things that he was on no account to do.
“Thou must have? Thou shalt have nothing. What? A locked box in which to keep holy books? Oh, that is another matter. Heavens forbid I should come between a priest and his prayers! It shall be brought, and thou shalt keep the key.”