der which house we had better make for. We stop
before one a shade cleaner than most, and larger and more open.

"May we come in?" Chorus, "Come in! oh, come in!" and in we go. It is a
tiny, narrow slip of a room. At one end there is a fire burning on the
ground; the smoke finds its way out through the roof, and a pot of rice
set on three stones is bubbling cheerfully. No fear of defilement here.
They would not like us to touch their rice or to see them eating it, but
they do not mind our being in the room where it is being cooked.

At the other end of the narrow slip there is a goat-pen, not very clean;
and down one side there is a raised mud place where the family
apparently sleep. This side and the two ends are roofed by palmyra
palm. It is dry and crackles at a touch, and you touch it every time you
stand up, so bits of it are constantly falling and helping to litter the
open space below.

[Illustration: An ancient Pariah, but the baby in her arms is a son of
the Caste of Palmyra Climbers. Both faces--the old crone's and the baby
boy's--are very typical. The baby is a "Christian," I should explain,
and his parents are true Christians, otherwise the Pariah woman would
not have been allowed to touch him.]

Five babies at different stages of refractoriness are sprawling about on
this strip of floor; they make noises all the time. Half a dozen
imbecile-looking old women crowd in through the low door, and stare and
exchange observations. Three young men with nothing particular to do
lounge at the far end of the platform near the goats. A bright girl,
with more jewellery on than is usual among Pariahs, is tending the fire
at the end near the door; she throws a stick or two on as we enter, and
hurries forward to get a mat. We sit down on the mat, and she sits
beside us; and the usual questions are asked and answered by way of
introduction. There is a not very clean old woman diligently devouring
betel; another with an enormous mouth, which she always holds wide open;
another with a very loud voice and a shock of unspeakable hair. But they
listen fairly well till a goat creates a diversion by making a remark,
and a baby--a jolly little scrap in its nice brown skin and a
bangle--yells, and everyone's attention concentrates upon it.

The goat subsides, the baby is now in its mother's arms; so we go on
where we left off, and I watch the bright young girl, and notice that
she listens as one who understands. She looks rather