five years old. They were all scantily clothed in
that salmon-colored cloth which one associates with Hindu mendicants,
and, at first sight, gave me the impression of a band of loathsome
_fakirs_. The filth and repulsiveness of the assembly were beyond
all description, and I shuddered to think what their life in the
badger-holes must be.

Even in these days, when local self-government has destroyed the greater
part of a native's respect for a Sahib, I have been accustomed to a
certain amount of civility from my inferiors, and on approaching the
crowd naturally expected that there would be some recognition of my
presence. As a matter of fact there was; but it was by no means what I
had looked for.

The ragged crew actually laughed at me--such laughter I hope I may never
hear again. They cackled, yelled, whistled, and howled as I walked into
their midst; some of them literally throwing themselves down on the
ground in convulsions of unholy mirth. In a moment I had let go Pornic's
head, and, irritated beyond expression at the morning's adventure,
commenced cuffing those nearest to me with all the force I could. The
wretches dropped under my blows like nine-pins, and the laughter gave
place to wails for mercy; while those yet untouched clasped me round the
knees, imploring me in all sorts of uncouth tongues to spare them.

In the tumult, and just when I was feeling very much ashamed of myself
for having thus easily given way to my temper, a thin, high voice
murmured in English from behind my shoulder: "Sahib! Sahib! Do you not
know me? Sahib, it is Gunga Dass, the telegraph-master."

I spun round quickly and faced the speaker.

Gunga Dass, (I have, of course, no hesitation in mentioning the man's
real name) I had known four years before as a Deccanee Brahmin loaned by
the Punjab Government to one of the Khalsia States. He was in charge
of a branch telegraph-office there, and when I had last met him was
a jovial, full-stomached, portly Government servant with a marvelous
capacity for making bad puns in English--a peculiarity which made
me remember him long after I had forgotten his services to me in his
official capacity. It is seldom that a Hindu makes English puns.

Now, however, the man was changed beyond all recognition. Caste-mark,
stomach, slate-colored continuations, and unctuous speech were all gone.
I looked at a withered skeleton, turban-less and almost naked, with long
matted hair and deep-set codfish-eyes.