espects
to us before we left Bangalore; he has placed them there while he takes
the world for his pillow and follows our fortunes. They were mighty
superior looking Hindoos, elegantly draped in yellow striped with red,
with light yellow flowers in their smooth black hair and their faces
were quite comely, but you couldn't look at them as they spoke for the
pink in their mouths from chewing betel. The raw pink is such an ugly
contrast to their rather pretty brown complexions. If I'd had the
designing of these people I'd have made their nails and the soles of
their feet dark too, also the inside of their mouths, like well bred
terriers. They gave G. and myself each a lime and a very tidy bouquet of
roses and ferns. You think nothing of being garlanded in this country
with wreaths of flowers. My host and hostess had collars of flowers to
the eyes the other day for some reason or other. I suppose that because
the white man won't take "presents" he must take flowers and limes. On
our part we gave each of these good people a small token in silver, with
which return compliment they seemed highly pleased, and Krishna
addressed us: standing straight he puckered his little face, so dark
against his white turban, and wept, saying, "Father and Mother and all
that I have I leave to follow Massa" or "my sahib"--I can never make out
which he says, and in reply I murmured something about "absence making
the heart grow fonder"--and felt quite touched; but R. tells me that
this weeping can be turned on by natives at any time, so when he
transacts business with weepy people, he says very gently, "Will you
please wait a little and weep later," and they stop at once and smile
and begin again just at the polite moment. I am convinced this is the
case, though it seems to us almost a physical impossibility, that a man
grown-up can turn on tears without heroics in a book or a novel or play
to start them; "the gentle Hindoo" seems even a more fitting term than
I'd have thought it was!... The people grew more noisy as we got south,
the racket they make along this line at night at stations qualifies the
comfortable berths and well-hung carriages.

A good deal, if not all, of the charm of travel went, about midnight. I
awoke in the dark and just distinguished a native stealing into our
carriage, whereon I showed a leg, and half rose, with intent to kill, or
throw out. He advanced stealthily and held out his hand in a way I
knew, and whispered, "pla