ir gurgling, grunting hookahs, which in full
blast sound like bull-frogs.

At last the lama returned. A hillman walked behind him with a wadded
cotton-quilt and spread it carefully by the fire.

'She deserves ten thousand grandchildren,' thought Kim. 'None the
less, but for me, those gifts would not have come.'

'A virtuous woman--and a wise one.' The lama slackened off, joint by
joint, like a slow camel. 'The world is full of charity to those who
follow the Way.' He flung a fair half of the quilt over Kim.

'And what said she?' Kim rolled up in his share of it.

'She asked me many questions and propounded many problems--the most of
which were idle tales which she had heard from devil-serving priests
who pretend to follow the Way. Some I answered, and some I said were
foolish. Many wear the Robe, but few keep the Way.'

'True. That is true.' Kim used the thoughtful, conciliatory tone of
those who wish to draw confidences.

'But by her lights she is most right-minded. She desires greatly that
we should go with her to Buddh Gaya; her road being ours, as I
understand, for many days' journey to the southward.'

'And?'

'Patience a little. To this I said that my Search came before all
things. She had heard many foolish legends, but this great truth of my
River she had never heard. Such are the priests of the lower hills!
She knew the Abbot of Lung-Cho, but she did not know of my River--nor
the tale of the Arrow.'

'And?'

'I spoke therefore of the Search, and of the Way, and of matters that
were profitable; she desiring only that I should accompany her and make
prayer for a second son.'

'Aha! "We women" do not think of anything save children,' said Kim
sleepily.

'Now, since our roads run together for a while, I do not see that we in
any way depart from our Search if so be we accompany her--at least as
far as--I have forgotten the name of the city.'

'Ohe!' said Kim, turning and speaking in a sharp whisper to one of the
Ooryas a few yards away. 'Where is your master's house?'

'A little behind Saharunpore, among the fruit gardens.' He named the
village.

'That was the place,' said the lama. 'So far, at least, we can go with
her.'

'Flies go to carrion,' said the Oorya, in an abstracted voice.

'For the sick cow a crow; for the sick man a Brahmin.' Kim breathed
the proverb impersonally to the shadow-tops of the trees overhead.

The Oorya grunted and held his peace.

'So then we