gnified way, and went out to
walk in the compound.

We are very busy collecting things to take home with us. (Did I
tell you G.'s berth had been booked in the ship I sail in--the
_Socotra_--it sails about the 23rd?) The _chicon-wallah_ came this
morning and spread his wares on the verandah floor--white rugs from
Kashmir, embroidered gaily in red and green and blue; tinsel mats and
table centres; pieces of soft bright silk; dainty white sewed work.
We could hardly be dragged from the absorbing sight to the
luncheon-table.

The Townleys never change their servants, and now three generations
serve together. The old _kitmutgar_ is the grandfather and trains
his grandsons in the way which they should go. To-day at luncheon
(fortunately we were alone), one of them made a mistake in handing a
dish, whereupon his grandfather gave him a resounding box on the ears,
knocking off his turban. Instead of going out of the room, the boy
went on handing me pudding, sobbing loudly the while, and with tears
running down his face. It was very embarrassing, and none of us had
enough Hindustani to rebuke the too-stern grandparent.

_Later_.

This afternoon, when we were having tea in the garden and enjoying
Peliti's chocolate-cake, a great outcry arose from the house, and we
saw the servants running and looking up to the verandah. Mr. Townley
called out to know what was the matter, and received such a confused
jumble of Hindustani in reply that he went to investigate. He came
back shrugging his shoulders. "It's some nonsense about a 'spirit,'
They say it's been appearing suddenly, then disappearing for some
time. Now the _chokra_ swears he saw it go up the verandah into a
bedroom. To satisfy them, I have sent for my gun, and I'll wait below
while they drive the 'spirit' down."

"It's our midnight visitor," G. and I cried together.

We waited, breathless. The servants rushed on to the verandah with
sticks--a dark streak slid down the verandah pillar--Mr. Townley
fired. It wasn't a tiger, it was a civet cat--a thing rather like a
fox, with a long pointed nose and an uncommonly nasty smell.

"Think," said G., as we looked at it lying stretched out
stiff,--"think of having that thing under our bed! A mouse indeed!"

We didn't say "I told you so," but we looked it.

Boggley comes back to-morrow, and I am going with him to the Grand
Hotel, so that we shall be together for the last little while.

_Agra, April 11_.

... from a cha