people, and especially the priest, for their great kindness? Truly they are būt-parast , but in other lives, maybe, they will receive enlightenment. A rupee to the temple? The thing within is no more than stone and red paint, but the heart of man we must acknowledge when and where it is good.”
“Holy One, hast thou ever taken the Road alone?” Kim looked up sharply, like the Indian crows so busy about the fields.
“Surely, child: from Kulu to Pathânkot—from Kulu, where my first chela died. When men were kind to us we made offerings, and all men were well-disposed throughout all the Hills.”
“It is otherwise in Hind,” said Kim drily. “Their Gods are many-armed and malignant. Let them alone.”
“I would set thee on thy road for a little, Friend of all the World—thou and thy yellow man.” The old soldier ambled up the village street, all shadowy in the dawn, on a punt, scissor-hocked pony. “Last night broke up the fountains of remembrance in my so-dried heart, and it was as a blessing to me. Truly there is war abroad in the air. I smell it. See! I have brought my sword.”
He sat long-legged on the little beast, with the big sword at his side—hand dropped on the pommel—staring fiercely over the flat lands towards the North. “Tell me again how He showed in thy vision. Come up and sit behind me. The beast will carry two.”
“I am this Holy One’s disciple,” said Kim, as they cleared the village-gate. The villagers seemed almost sorry to be rid of them, but the priest’s farewell was cold and distant. He had wasted some opium on a man who carried no money.
“That is well spoken. I am not much used to holy men, but respect is always good. There is no respect in these days—not even when a