little from the other, and Kim topped it with a native-made cigarette.
“Have I not said an hundred times that the South is a good land? Here is a virtuous and highborn widow of a Hill Rajah on pilgrimage, she says, to Buddha Gaya. She it is sends us those dishes; and when thou art well rested she would speak to thee.”
“Is this also thy work?” The lama dipped deep into his snuff-gourd.
“Who else watched over thee since our wonderful journey began?” Kim’s eyes danced in his head as he blew the rank smoke through his nostrils and stretched him on the dusty ground. “Have I failed to oversee thy comforts, Holy One?”
“A blessing on thee.” The lama inclined his solemn head. “I have known many men in my so long life, and disciples not a few. But to none among men, if so be thou art woman-born, has my heart gone out as it has to thee—thoughtful, wise, and courteous; but something of a small imp.”