we can, and talk to any
we can persuade to sit down beside us. Hindus are safer far than
Mohammedans; they are very seldom rude; but to-day we know enough of
what is going on to make us keep clear of all men, if we can. They would
not say anything much to us, but they might say a good deal to each
other which is better left unsaid.

By the time we have gathered, and held, and then had to let go, three or
four of such little groups, it is breakfast time, and we want our
breakfast badly. So we press through the crowd, diving under mat sheds
and among unspeakable messes, heaps of skins on either side, and one
hardly knows what under every foot of innocent-looking sand; for the
people bury the debris lightly, throwing a handful of sand on the
worst, and the sun does the rest of the sanitation. It is rather
horrible.

At last we reach the cart, tilted sideways on the bank, and get through
our breakfast somehow, and rest for a few blissful minutes, in most
uncomfortable positions, before plunging again into that sea of sun and
sand and animals, human and otherwise; and then we part, arranging to
meet when we cannot go on any more.

Is Pan dead? . . .

Noon, and hotter, far hotter, than ever. Oh, how the people throng and
push, and kill and eat, and bury remains! How can they enjoy it so? What
can be the pleasure in it?

We find our way back to that ribbon of shade. It is a narrower ribbon
now, because the sun, riding overhead, throws the shadow of a single
bough, instead of the broader trunk. But such as it is, we are glad of
it, and again we gather little groups, and talk to them, and sing.

Some beautiful girls pass us close, the only girls to be seen anywhere.
Only little children and wives come here; no good unmarried girls. One
of the group is dressed in white, but most are in vivid purples and
crimsons. The girl in white has a weary look, the work of the night
again. But most of the sisterhood are indoors; in the evening we shall
see more of them, scattered among the people, doing their terrible
master's work. These pass us without speaking, and mingle in the crowd.

After an hour in the band of shade, we slowly climb the bank again, and
find ourselves among the potters, hundreds and hundreds of them. Every
family buys a pot, and perhaps two or three of different sizes; so the
potters drive a brisk trade to-day, and have no leisure to listen to us.

It is getting very much hotter now, for the burning sand and t