riage bade the guard be merciful,—the banker was specially strong on this point,—but the guard hauled Kim on to the platform. The lama blinked, he could not overtake the situation, and Kim lifted up his voice and wept outside the carriage window.
'I am very poor. My father is dead—my mother is dead. Oh, charitable ones, if I am left here, who shall tend that old man?'
'What—what is this?' the lama repeated. 'He must go to Benares. He must come with me. He is my chela. If there is money to be paid'
'Oh, be silent,' whispered Kim; 'are we Rajahs to throw away good silver when the world is so charitable?'
The Amritzar girl stepped out with her bundles, and it was on her that Kim kept his watchful eye. Ladies of that persuasion, he knew, were generous.
'A ticket—a little ticket to Umballa—O Breaker of Hearts!' She laughed. 'Hast thou no charity?'
'Does the holy man come from the North?'
'From far and far in the North he comes,' cried Kim. 'From among the Hills.'
'There is snow among the pine trees in the North—in the Hills there is snow. My mother was from Kulu. Get thee a ticket. Ask him for a blessing.'
'Ten thousand blessings,' shrilled Kim. 'O Holy One, a woman has given us in charity so that I can come with thee—a woman with a golden heart. I run for the tikkut.'
The girl looked up at the lama, who had mechanically followed Kim to the platform. He bowed his head that he might not see her, and muttered in Tibetan as she passed on with the crowd.
'Light come—light go,' said the cultivator's wife viciously.
