, on a fallen branch, making it crackle, the man turned
on me a glance so malignant I positively quailed. Breathlessly we
crept to the water-side and the unsuspecting ducks, and then
Major Griffiths fired into the brown,--is that the proper
expression?--killing I don't know how many. I don't think it was at
all a nice thing to do, but my opinion was neither asked nor desired.
Even then my friend was not satisfied, and he voyaged about until I
knew luncheon was long since a thing of the past, and I hated so the
shape of his face I could have screamed. When at last we did return, I
found my surmise as to luncheon had been only too correct, and we had
to content ourselves with scraps. The next duck-shoot I attend I shall
choose as companion a less earnest sportsman.

The weather is beginning to stoke-up, as Boggley calls it, and during
the day the tent is insufferable. I can sit outside it in the early
morning, but as the sun gets up Autolycus summons the _chuprassis_,
and they carry my table and writing-materials to the verandah of
the Guest House, which has a cool, not to say clammy and tomb-like,
atmosphere. My chief trials are the insects. There is a land of large
black beetle with wings that has a strange habit of poising itself
just above my head and remaining there. Someone told me--who I forget;
anyway, Boggley says it isn't true, but it seems quite likely--that
if these beetles drop on you they _explode_. Did you ever hear of
anything quite so horrible? I keep a wary eye on them and shift my
seat at their approach.

Not a hundred yards away a heathen temple stands, with its gilded roof
shining in the sun. We tried to go inside it the other day, but an
angel with a flaming sword, in the shape of a _fakir_, kept us out. It
didn't look very attractive. We saw enough when we beheld the post the
poor kids and goats are tied to, all messy and horrid from the last
sacrifice. The priest who forbade us to enter, just to show there was
no ill-feeling, hung wreaths of marigolds round our necks. Boggley,
once we were out of sight, hid his in the ditch, but I, afraid they
might find out and be offended, went about for the rest of the day
decked like any sacrificial goat.

That we are leading the Simple Life I think you would admit if you saw
us at our meals. I find that food really matters very little. Our cook
is of the jungle jungly. Autolycus is disgusted with him, and does his
best to reform him. _Chota-hazri_ I have al