butter and jam, all home-made. The china
we use is very pretty and came from Ireland, but Mrs. Royle has been
greatly troubled by its discoloured appearance, which the servants
assured her there was no cure for. I suggested rough salt and
lemon-juice, and after tea yesterday afternoon they brought it, and
we each set to work on our own cup and saucer, and behold! in a
very short time they were like new. Boggley made his particularly
beautiful, but unfortunately broke it immediately afterwards, at which
Kittiwake laughed so immoderately she fell on her saucer and sent it
to its long home.

I have learned to take a most intelligent interest in fowls and
Nietzsche; and more and more as the days pass do I like and admire
our host and hostess. I never met people I felt so _affectionately_
towards.

Here come the children flying, followed patiently by the old
_khansamah_ with a spoon in one hand and a bottle of cod-liver-oil
emulsion in the other. I had better finish this letter and get the ink
out of their reach.

_Baratah, Thursday, Feb. 21_.

... Now we are really camping out, and I sit outside my tent even
as Abraham did of old. I have a whole long day before me to write.
Boggley was up and away long before I was awake, and won't be back
till evening.

We left Rika on Monday afternoon, very sad indeed. Mrs. Royle, as is
her way, heaped us with benefits, and, mindful of our starvation
on the way to Rika, had a luncheon-basket packed with cold fowl,
home-made bread, tomatoes, and a big cake. As we drove off the
children pursued us down the drive crying, "Don't go away. Stay with
us always."

At the station we were told that the train was two hours late, and
Boggley thought it would be an excellent plan to spend the time
calling on the Blackies, who live near; so, leaving Autolycus and
the _chuprassis_ with the luggage, we set out. We had been shown the
flower-garden and a crocodile that Mr. Blackie had shot, and were
about to drink a dish of tea in the drawing-room, when we heard the
whistle of an engine. "The train!" cried Boggley, bounding to his
feet, and spurning the cup of tea Mrs. Blackie was offering to him. It
was no moment for ceremony. With a shrieked good-bye we leapt out of
the window and across the compound, and set off on our half-mile run
to the station. There is something peculiarly nasty about the nature
of Indian trains. Simply because we left the station it chose to be up
to time. It must have