reat cross-legged, vapidly smiling Buddha.
He bowed himself to the ground three times over, as well as his portly
frame would permit him, knocking his forehead against the floor, just
as Hilda had done; then he proceeded, almost awestruck, to take from
the altar an object wrapped round with gold brocade, and very carefully
guarded. Two acolytes accompanied him. In the most reverent way,
he slowly unwound the folds of gold cloth, and released from its
hiding-place the highly sacred deposit. He held it up before our eyes
with an air of triumph. It was an English bottle!

The label on it shone with gold and bright colours. I could see it was
figured. The figure represented a cat, squatting on its haunches. The
sacred inscription ran, in our own tongue, "Old Tom Gin, Unsweetened."

The monks bowed their heads in profound silence as the sacred thing was
produced. I caught Hilda's eye. "For Heaven's sake," I murmured low,
"don't either of you laugh! If you do, it's all up with us."

They kept their countenances with admirable decorum.

Another idea struck me. "Tell them," I said to the cook, "that we,
too, have a similar and very powerful god, but much more lively." He
interpreted my words to them.

Then I opened our stores, and drew out with a flourish--our last
remaining bottle of Simla soda-water.

Very solemnly and seriously I unwired the cork, as if performing an
almost sacrosanct ceremony. The monks crowded round, with the deepest
curiosity. I held the cork down for a second with my thumb, while
I uttered once more, in my most awesome tone, the mystic words:
"Hokey--pokey--winky--wum!" then I let it fly suddenly. The soda-water
was well up. The cork bounded to the ceiling; the contents of the bottle
spurted out over the place in the most impressive fashion.

For a minute the Lamas drew back alarmed. The thing seemed almost
devilish. Then slowly, reassured by our composure, they crept back and
looked. With a glance of inquiry at the abbot, I took out my pocket
corkscrew, and drew the cork of the gin-bottle, which had never been
opened. I signed for a cup. They brought me one, reverently. I poured
out a little gin, to which I added some soda-water, and drank first of
it myself, to show them it was not poison. After that, I handed it to
the chief Lama, who sipped at it, sipped again, and emptied the cup at
the third trial. Evidently the sacred drink was very much to his taste,
for he smacked his lips after it, and t