priests, silent but all observant, gathered by the temple door. They knew, and Kim knew that they knew, how the old lama had met his disciple. Being courteous folk, they had not obtruded themselves overnight by presence, word, or gesture. Wherefore Kim repaid them as the sun rose.
'Thank the Gods of the Jains, brother,' he said, not knowing how the Gods were named. 'The fever is indeed broken.'
'Look! See!' The lama beamed in the background upon his hosts of three years. 'Was there ever such a chela! He follows our Lord the Healer.'
Now the Jains officially recognize all the Gods of the Hindu creed, as well as the Lingam and the Snake. They wear the Brahminical thread; they adhere to every claim of Hindu caste-law. But, because they knew and loved the lama, because he was an old man, because he sought the Way, because he was their guest, and because he collogued long of nights with the head-priest—as free-thinking a metaphysician as ever split a hair into seventy—they murmured assent.
'Remember,'—Kim bent over the child,—'this trouble may come again.'
'Not if thou hast the proper spell,' said the Kamboh.
'But in a little while we go away.'
'True,' said the lama to all the Jains. 'We go now together upon the Search whereof I have often spoken. I waited till my chela was ripe. Behold him! We go North. Never again shall I look upon this place of my rest, O people of good will.'
'But I am not a beggar. ' The cultivator rose to his feet, clutching the child.
'Be still. Do not trouble the Holy One,' a priest said.
'Go,' Kim whispered. 'Meet us again under the big railway
