osity. He had some impression that he ought to be civil to a gentleman (he was sitting at this time), but in what way to show this civility he had never been taught, consequently he failed to show any. Mâdhabi Nâth saw he had to do with a boor. Smiling, he said, "Are you a Brahman?"
The postmaster said "Yes, and thou?—you, what are you, sir?"
Repressing a smile, Mâdhabi Nâth bent his head, touching his brow with clasped hands, said, "A morning salutation."
The postmaster said, "Be pleased to sit."
This threw Mâdhabi Nâth into a difficulty. He was bid to sit, but where was he to sit? The bâbu himself occupied an old three-legged chair, and other seat there was none. Then the postmaster's seven-anna Hari Dâs peon took a heap of torn books from a broken stool and offered it to the strange gentleman for a seat. Seating himself, Mâdhabi Nâth glanced at the peon. "Oh, how are you?" he inquired. "Have I not seen you somewhere?"
Peon. "Yes, sir, I deliver the letters."
Mâdhabi. "Ah! it was thus I came to
