rance of the racing elephant, Gunpat Rao.

Many months before, five merchants came in from far Kabul and sat down in
the market-place at Hurda, day by day unfolding more of their packs.
They brought nuts from High Himalaya, foot-hill raisins and the long
white Kabuli grapes themselves, packed in cotton, a dozen to fifteen in
the box. Then there were dried figs and dates, pomegranates picked up
far this side of the Hills, Kabuli weaves of cloth, and silks inwoven
with gold thread. They were small packs, but worth a great price; which
is important to relate in any company.

Now these five Kabulies were usually together (not too far from the
kadamba tree where Ratna Ram sat); and their turbans were of different
colours, but their hearts were mainly of one kind of hell. Sometimes
they stood and sometimes they moved one by one among the bazaars; but
Hurda thought of them as one alien presence, and signified that the
hugest of them, the monster himself, was also the most hateful and
dangerous, which he was.

If I should tell how tall he was exactly, and this in the midst of Sikhs
and other of the tallest people of the world, you would think it one of
the high lights of a writer-man, and if I should tell you of the face of
this monster; the soft folds of fury resting there in the main; the bulk
of loose greyish lids over the whites of eyes flecked with brown
pigments; of the sunken upper lip and the nose drooping against it, you
would say long before I had finished, "Let up on the poor beast--"

And this was a rich man, this Kabuli; richer than any of these brothers,
and deeper-minded; so that he could think with keener power to make his
thought come true. Also, life was more full to him than to the others,
so that he could look over the world of his packs; and when he slept in
the midst of his packs, all his treasure was not there. You really
should have seen him smile as the head-missionary, Mr. Maurice,
approached, and you should have seen the smile change to a sneer, without
a flick of difference in the expression of the eyes. And perhaps it is
just as well that you missed the look that came into the eyes of the
monster Kabuli when the beautiful English missionary, Margaret Annesley,
passed.

Miss Annesley was Carlin's closest friend in Hurda. They worked together
among the women and children, among the sick and hungry, and found much
to do, without entering the deeper concerns of soul-wellbeing which Mr.
Mau