The ancient custom, she told them, still holds good, though it has
declined in use, like all things chivalrous, in an age deafened by the
clamour of industrial strife; an age grown blind to the beauty of
service, that, in defiance of "progress," still remains the keynote of
an Indian woman's life.

So these privileged children had heard much of it, through the medium of
Lilámani's Indian tales; and this particular one had made a deeper
impression on Tara than on Roy; perhaps because the budding woman in her
relished the power of choice and command it conferred on her own sex.
Certainly no thought of possible future commands dawned on Roy. It was
her pride in his achievement, so characteristically expressed that
flattered his incipient masculine vanity and added a cubit to his
stature. He knew now what he meant to be when he grew up. Not a painter,
or a soldier or a gardener--but a Bracelet-Bound Brother....

Gingerly, almost shyly, he slipped over his hand the deftly woven,
trifle of ribbon and gleaming hair. As the first glow of pleasure
subsided, there sprang the instinctive thought--"Won't Mummy be
pleased!" And straightway he was caught afresh in the toils of his
dilemma--How could he possibly explain----?

What was she doing? Why didn't she come----?

There----! His ear caught far-off footsteps--too heavy for hers. He
slipped off the Bracelet, folded it in Tara's letter and tucked it away
inside his shirt.

Hurriedly--a little nervously--he tied his brown bow and got upon his
feet, just as the door opened and his father came in.