rth of a
religion--the first teacher and the first disciple. Is he a Buddhist?'

'Of some debased kind,' the other answered. 'There are no true
Buddhists among the Hills. But look at the folds of the drapery. Look
at his eyes--how insolent! Why does this make one feel that we are so
young a people?' The speaker struck passionately at a tall weed. 'We
have nowhere left our mark yet. Nowhere! That, do you understand, is
what disquiets me.' He scowled at the placid face, and the monumental
calm of the pose.

'Have patience. We shall make your mark together--we and you young
people. Meantime, draw his picture.'

The Babu advanced loftily; his back out of all keeping with his
deferential speech, or his wink towards Kim.

'Holy One, these be Sahibs. My medicines cured one of a flux, and I go
into Simla to oversee his recovery. They wish to see thy picture--'

'To heal the sick is always good. This is the Wheel of Life,' said the
lama, 'the same I showed thee in the hut at Ziglaur when the rain fell.'

'And to hear thee expound it.'

The lama's eyes lighted at the prospect of new listeners. 'To expound
the Most Excellent Way is good. Have they any knowledge of Hindi, such
as had the Keeper of Images?'

'A little, maybe.'

Hereat, simply as a child engrossed with a new game, the lama threw
back his head and began the full-throated invocation of the Doctor of
Divinity ere he opens the full doctrine. The strangers leaned on their
alpenstocks and listened. Kim, squatting humbly, watched the red
sunlight on their faces, and the blend and parting of their long
shadows. They wore un-English leggings and curious girt-in belts that
reminded him hazily of the pictures in a book in St Xavier's library
"The Adventures of a Young Naturalist in Mexico" was its name. Yes,
they looked very like the wonderful M. Sumichrast of that tale, and
very unlike the 'highly unscrupulous folk' of Hurree Babu's imagining.
The coolies, earth-coloured and mute, crouched reverently some twenty
or thirty yards away, and the Babu, the slack of his thin gear snapping
like a marking-flag in the chill breeze, stood by with an air of happy
proprietorship.

'These are the men,' Hurree whispered, as the ritual went on and the
two whites followed the grass-blade sweeping from Hell to Heaven and
back again. 'All their books are in the large kilta with the reddish
top--books and reports and maps--and I have seen a King's letter that
ei