law, who had sent up an escort as a mark of respect. The hillmen
would be of her own people - Kulu or Kangra folk. It was quite
clear that she was not taking her daughter down to be wedded, or
the curtains would have been laced home and the guard would have
allowed no one near the car. A merry and a high-spirited dame,
thought Kim, balancing the dung-cake in one hand, the cooked food
in the other, and piloting the lama with a nudging shoulder.
Something might be made out of the meeting. The lama would give him
no help, but, as a conscientious chela, Kim was delighted to beg
for two.

He built his fire as close to the cart as he dared, waiting for one
of the escort to order him away. The lama dropped wearily to the
ground, much as a heavy fruit-eating bat cowers, and returned to
his rosary.

'Stand farther off, beggar!' The order was shouted in broken
Hindustani by one of the hillmen.

'Huh! It is only a pahari [a hillman]', said Kim over his shoulder.
'Since when have the hill-asses owned all Hindustan?'

The retort was a swift and brilliant sketch of Kim's pedigree for
three generations.

'Ah!' Kim's voice was sweeter than ever, as he broke the dung-cake
into fit pieces. 'In my country we call that the beginning of love-talk.'

A harsh, thin cackle behind the curtains put the hillman on his
mettle for a second shot.