from the house, and told Phatik his mother
wanted him. Phatik refused to move. But the servant was the master on
this occasion. He took Phatik up roughly, and carried him, kicking and
struggling in impotent rage.

When Phatik came into the house, his mother saw him. She called out
angrily: "So you have been hitting Makhan again?"

Phatik answered indignantly: "No, I haven't; who told you that?"

His mother shouted: "Don't tell lies! You have."

Phatik said suddenly: "I tell you, I haven't. You ask Makhan!" But
Makhan thought it best to stick to his previous statement. He said:
"Yes, mother. Phatik did hit me."

Phatik's patience was already exhausted. He could not hear this
injustice. He rushed at Makban, and hammered him with blows: "Take that"
he cried, "and that, and that, for telling lies."

His mother took Makhan's side in a moment, and pulled Phatik away,
beating him with her hands. When Phatik pushed her aside, she shouted
out: "What I you little villain! would you hit your own mother?"

It was just at this critical juncture that the grey-haired stranger
arrived. He asked what was the matter. Phatik looked sheepish and
ashamed.

But when his mother stepped back and looked at the stranger, her anger
was changed to surprise. For she recognised her brother, and cried:
"Why, Dada! Where have you come from?" As she said these words, she
bowed to the ground and touched his feet. Her brother had gone away soon
after she had married, and he had started business in Bombay. His sister
had lost her husband while he was In Bombay. Bishamber had now come back
to Calcutta, and had at once made enquiries about his sister. He had
then hastened to see her as soon as he found out where she was.

The next few days were full of rejoicing. The brother asked after the
education of the two boys. He was told by his sister that Phatik was a
perpetual nuisance. He was lazy, disobedient, and wild. But Makhan was
as good as gold, as quiet as a lamb, and very fond of reading, Bishamber
kindly offered to take Phatik off his sister's hands, and educate him
with his own children in Calcutta. The widowed mother readily agreed.
When his uncle asked Phatik If he would like to go to Calcutta with him,
his joy knew no bounds, and he said; "Oh, yes, uncle!" In a way that
made it quite clear that he meant it.

It was an immense relief to the mother to get rid of Phatik. She had
a prejudice against the boy, and no love was lost between the