it.' And, turning to the red ashes burning in a brazier near at
hand, I dexterously substituted a fragment of paper, on which I had been
figuring my accounts, for the paper received, from the dhobi, placing
the former on the glowing charcoal embers and bestowing the latter in
the security of my girdle. A curl of white smoke, a puff of flame, and
the work of destruction was, to all appearance, completed.

"'In view of your misfortune, my friend,' I resumed, 'I bestow upon you
in the name of my master ten maunds of dal, which will be sent to your
home on the morrow.'

"The recipient of this unexpected bounty prostrated himself before me.

"'O prince of justice, no longer do my wounds pain me. The bellies of my
children will be filled for many long days to come.'

"'Then go thy way, rejoicing in thy heart even though limping on thy
feet. And remember that silence is golden. Say not one word more to
anyone about the ring or the paper, your punishment or the reward that
has now redressed the wrong. Go in peace.'

"And the dhobi, after profuse expressions of gratitude, hobbled from my
presence.

"Alone with my thoughts, I felt sorely troubled. The writer of the
verses of ardent poetry written on the paper brought to me by the
washerman was my cherished friend, a youth from far-away Bokhara, Abdul
by name. This young man had come to our country only a year or so
before, bringing several beautiful Arab horses for sale. These the
zemindar had purchased, and had retained Abdul in his service, for the
youth was skilled in the management of horses, and in the rearing of
young stock.

"Abdul and myself were much of an age, and my regulation of expenditures
in the stables had brought us constantly together. So a close friendship
had resulted, valued greatly on my side, for I had soon come to know
that Abdul was a man of refinement and learning such as I had never
before encountered in any man of so humble a calling. And despite the
fact that he was a Moslem and I a Hindu, he had chosen me as his
intimate friend, his only confidant. Thus had it come about that at
times he had read to me of an evening songs of his own composing, and
even on occasion had sung them to the accompaniment of a small harp, the
strings of which he touched with wondrous skill and sensibility.

"Now did I know that this dear friend of mine had endangered not only
his well-being but his life, by sending into the zenana of our master,
the zemindar, a lov