in him and is proud to say so in his reports.

Then the _chitnis_, if he is a Brahmin, addresses himself to the task of
eliminating the Purbhoo from the service, or at least depriving him of
place and power. It is a delicate task, but the Brahmin's touch is
light. He never disparages a Purbhoo from that day; "damning with faint
praise" is safer and as effectual. He practises the charity which
covereth a multitude of faults, but he leaves a tag end of one peeping
out to attract curiosity, and if the collector asks questions, he is
candid and tells the truth, though with manifest reluctance. Then he
grapples with the gradation lists, which have fallen into confusion, and
puts them into such excellent order that the collector can see at a
glance every man's past services and present claims to promotion. And
from these lists it appears that clearly, whenever any vacancy has to be
filled, a Brahmin has the first claim. And so, as the shades of night
yield to the dawn of day, the Purbhoo by degrees fades away and
disappears, and the star of the Brahmin rises and shines everywhere with
still increasing splendour.

But the Purbhoo possesses his soul in patience, and keeps a note of
every slip that the Brahmin makes. For the next _chitnis_ may be a
Purbhoo, and then the day of reckoning will come and old scores will be
paid off. The Brahmin knows that too, and the thought of it makes him
walk warily even in the day of his prosperity. Thus our administration
is saved from utter corruption.

XV

THE COCONUT TREE

Among the classic fairy-tales which passed like shooting stars across
those dark hours of our boyhood in which we wrestled with the grim
rudiments of Latin and Greek, and which abide in the memory after nearly
all that they helped to brighten has passed away, there was one which
related to a contest between Neptune and Minerva as to which should
confer the greatest benefit on the human race. Neptune first struck his
trident on the ground (or was it on the waves? "Eheu fugaces"--no, that
also is gone), and there sprang forth a noble steed, pawing the ground,
terrible in war and no less useful in peace. Then the watery god leaned
back and smiled as if he would say, "Now, beat that." But the Goddess of
Wisdom brought out of the earth a modest, dark tree bearing olives and,
in classic phrase, "took the cake," Oriental mythology is more luxuriant
and fantastic than that of the West, but I do not know if it has an