m had been kicked
as far as single letters, but did not think well of them.

'I do not know anything. Go away!' said Kim, scenting evil. Hereupon
the man caught him by the ear, dragged him to a room in a far-off wing
where a dozen drummer-boys were sitting on forms, and told him to be
still if he could do nothing else. This he managed very successfully.
The man explained something or other with white lines on a black board
for at least half an hour, and Kim continued his interrupted nap. He
much disapproved of the present aspect of affairs, for this was the
very school and discipline he had spent two-thirds of his young life in
avoiding. Suddenly a beautiful idea occurred to him, and he wondered
that he had not thought of it before.

The man dismissed them, and first to spring through the veranda into
the open sunshine was Kim.

''Ere, you! 'Alt! Stop!' said a high voice at his heels. 'I've got
to look after you. My orders are not to let you out of my sight. Where
are you goin'?'

It was the drummer-boy who had been hanging round him all the
forenoon--a fat and freckled person of about fourteen, and Kim loathed
him from the soles of his boots to his cap-ribbons.

'To the bazar--to get sweets--for you,' said Kim, after thought.

'Well, the bazar's out o' bounds. If we go there we'll get a
dressing-down. You come back.'

'How near can we go?' Kim did not know what bounds meant, but he
wished to be polite--for the present.

''Ow near? 'Ow far, you mean! We can go as far as that tree down the
road.'

'Then I will go there.'

'All right. I ain't goin'. It's too 'ot. I can watch you from 'ere.
It's no good your runnin' away. If you did, they'd spot you by your
clothes. That's regimental stuff you're wearin'. There ain't a picket
in Umballa wouldn't 'ead you back quicker than you started out.'

This did not impress Kim as much as the knowledge that his raiment
would tire him out if he tried to run. He slouched to the tree at the
corner of a bare road leading towards the bazar, and eyed the natives
passing. Most of them were barrack-servants of the lowest caste. Kim
hailed a sweeper, who promptly retorted with a piece of unnecessary
insolence, in the natural belief that the European boy could not follow
it. The low, quick answer undeceived him. Kim put his fettered soul
into it, thankful for the late chance to abuse somebody in the tongue
he knew best. 'And now, go to the nearest letter-