cape. The
Regiment would go on to Umballa, and Kim would be sent up, partly at
the expense of the Lodge and in part by subscription, to a place called
Sanawar.

'It's miraculous past all whooping, Colonel,' said Father Victor, when
he had talked without a break for ten minutes. 'His Buddhist friend
has levanted after taking my name and address. I can't quite make out
whether he'll pay for the boy's education or whether he is preparing
some sort of witchcraft on his own account.' Then to Kim: 'You'll live
to be grateful to your friend the Red Bull yet. We'll make a man of
you at Sanawar--even at the price o' making you a Protestant.'

'Certainly--most certainly,' said Bennett.

'But you will not go to Sanawar,' said Kim.

'But we will go to Sanawar, little man. That's the order of the
Commander-in-Chief, who's a trifle more important than O'Hara's son.'

'You will not go to Sanawar. You will go to thee War.'

There was a shout of laughter from the full tent.

'When you know your own Regiment a trifle better you won't confuse the
line of march with line of battle, Kim. We hope to go to "thee War"
sometime.'

'Oah, I know all thatt.' Kim drew his bow again at a venture. If they
were not going to the war, at least they did not know what he knew of
the talk in the veranda at Umballa.

'I know you are not at thee war now; but I tell you that as soon as you
get to Umballa you will be sent to the war--the new war. It is a war
of eight thousand men, besides the guns.'

'That's explicit. D'you add prophecy to your other gifts? Take him
along, sergeant. Take up a suit for him from the Drums, an' take care
he doesn't slip through your fingers. Who says the age of miracles is
gone by? I think I'll go to bed. My poor mind's weakening.'

At the far end of the camp, silent as a wild animal, an hour later sat
Kim, newly washed all over, in a horrible stiff suit that rasped his
arms and legs.

'A most amazin' young bird,' said the sergeant. 'He turns up in charge
of a yellow-headed buck-Brahmin priest, with his father's Lodge
certificates round his neck, talkin' God knows what all of a red bull.
The buck-Brahmin evaporates without explanations, an' the bhoy sets
cross-legged on the Chaplain's bed prophesyin' bloody war to the men at
large. Injia's a wild land for a God-fearin' man. I'll just tie his
leg to the tent-pole in case he'll go through the roof. What did ye
say about the war?'

'Eight thousand