im with me
to Hindostan--strange, unsophisticated people; how simple-hearted,
how childlike they seem!

The caravanserai is but a couple of miles ahead, but it is situated in
the dip of an extensive, basin-like depression between two mountain
ranges, and the last half mile consists of mud and water eighteen inches
deep. The caravanserai itself stands on a slight elevation, and is found
occupied by a couple of families, who make the place their permanent
abode and gain a livelihood by supplying food, firewood, and horse-feed
to travellers.

Upon our arrival, a woman makes her appearance and announces her
willingness to cater to our wants.

"Noon ass?"

"Yes, plenty of bread."

"Toke-me-morge neis f"

"Neis; loke-me-morge-neis."

"Sheerah ass?"

"Sheerah neis."

"What have you then besides bread?"

For answer the woman points to a few beruffled chickens scratching for
grains of barley among a heap of rubbish that has evidently been
exploited by them times without number before, and says she can sell us
chickens at one keran apiece.

Seeing the absence of anything else, I order her forthwith to capture one
for me, and the Persian gentleman orders another. The woman sets three
youngsters and a yellow, tailless dog to run down the chickens, and in a
few minutes presents herself before us, holding in each hand the plucked
and scrawny carcass of a fowl that has had to scratch hard and
persistently for its life for heaven knows how many years. One of the
chickens is considerably larger than the other, and I tell the Persian
gentleman to take his choice, thinking that with himself and his two
servants he would be glad to accept the larger fowl. On the contrary,
however, he fixes his choice on the smaller one.

Touched by what appears to be a simple act of unselfishness, I endeavor
to persuade him to take the other, pointing out that he has three mouths
to fill while I have only one. My importunities are, however, wasted on
so polite and disinterested a person, and so I reluctantly take
possession of the bulkier fowl.

The Persian's servant dissects his master's purchase and stows it away
for future use, the three making their supper off bread and a mixture of
grease, chopped onions and sheerah from the larder of their saddle-bags.
The woman readily accepts the offer of an additional half keran for
relieving me of the onerous task of cooking my own supper, and takes her
departure, promising to cook it as quickl