could lave the feet, a sewer arch discharging but a yard away, and the evil domri panning out their treasure close by. When the pyre was ready, the body was completely immersed for a moment, carried up and laid on the fagots, and a sobbing, frightened little boy, his tunic wet in Ganges water, laid sandalwood and spices on his mother's body, ran five times around the pile as priests and relatives pushed and pulled him through his part, and, touching the torch to the oil-drenched fagots, ran shrieking to a servant's arms. The flames leaped and crackled, jets of thick smoke curled around, the fire lapped over the edges of the grave-clothes, and smoke mercifully concealed the rest. The domri stood by with long irons arranging the fire, adding wood and oil, while the family group waited there until all should be consumed. A prisoner's body from the jail was laid by the sewer's mouth, and instead of being burned in the later, cheaper hours of the afternoon, was to be cremated at once at the expense of a rich Brahman, who waited to commit the ashes to the river and thereby "acquire merit."
At the near-by ghat a boy's body had been laid on the lowest step, and without cover or shroud, clothed as in life, his relatives wailed and dashed Ganges water over him. He had probably died within the hour. He might even have been gasping as they hurried him through the streets to be burned and committed to the Ganges before noon. The body was not yet rigid as the relatives poured and sprinkled water over the graceful young statue, wrapped it in a Ganges-soaked sheet, fastened it to a litter of
