ward in the lap and the right hanging over the
knee--with the calm and passionless regard which somehow, no matter what
the medium, no matter what conventions interpose, is always so surely
portrayed. But that had been long and long ago. Decay had eaten through
those painted and gilded robes. The soot of many years had tanned those
sacred lineaments to an obscure and homely human tint.

Along the near edge of the altar lay a shallow trough for the better
disposal of such offerings as the shrine might receive: fresh flowers
and flakes of popped and colored rice, incense sticks of which the
vapor rose in a slow, unwavering veil, and a row of paper flags to
record the prayers of the pious.

Midway there burned a single taper, a point of light that dimly
illumined the holy spot and revealed to Cloots, as he entered, its only
other occupant.

On a bamboo mat knelt a young girl, fairly on her knees, as the Rule
allows for such frail creatures. Her black hair was drawn sleek as a
bird's wing. At her breast she held a new lotus blossom, no softer nor
more delicate than the fingers that offered it. Her little feet were
carefully tucked within the silken _tamehn_. Her head was bowed. And the
gleaming curve of her body, all her lithe vigor, was subdued, was
humbled, to the act of ecstatic supplication before the Excellent One.

Cloots arrived as a confident and more or less truly appreciative
observer of all these details. They were familiar to him. He understood
them, so far as any perceptive, far-wandering white is likely to
understand. They ministered to him.

He approved the flaring sunset and he approved this discreet
retreat--the hushed and perfumed air of worship no less than the stir
and brilliance outside. He could interpret the sigh of imploring lips
and the trouble of a fluttered little breast before the altar as keenly
as the murmur and laughter of the barefoot crowds and the distant music
of numberless pagoda chimes. He enjoyed the more intimate delights of
exotic life as well as its bright outward cheek. Particularly, having
just renewed his contact with an engaging and responsive native people,
he enjoyed this opportunity with a native girl--decidedly engaging and
responsive probably.

No mere brutal, casual sensualist was Cloots. He found it good to be
alive. He found it very good to be back in a country where he was master
of the idiom and the customs. He found it exceeding good to be
contemplating the skil