one soothing hum whose deepest note was the steady chumping of the
bullocks above their chopped straw, and whose highest was the
tinkle of a Bengali dancing-girl's sitar. Most men had eaten and
pulled deep at their gurgling, grunting hookahs, which in full
blast sound like bull-frogs.

At last the lama returned. A hillman walked behind him with a
wadded cotton-quilt and spread it carefully by the fire.

'She deserves ten thousand grandchildren,' thought Kim. 'None the
less, but for me, those gifts would not have come.'

'A virtuous woman - and a wise one.' The lama slackened off, joint
by joint, like a slow camel. 'The world is full of charity to those
who follow the Way.' He flung a fair half of the quilt over Kim.

'And what said she?' Kim rolled up in his share of it.

'She asked me many questions and propounded many problems - the
most of which were idle tales which she had heard from devil-
serving priests who pretend to follow the Way. Some I answered, and
some I said were foolish. Many wear the Robe, but few keep the
Way.'

'True. That is true.' Kim used the thoughtful, conciliatory tone of
those who wish to draw confidences.

'But by her lights she is most right-minded. She desires greatly
that we should go with her to Buddh Gaya; her road being ours, as I
understand, for many days' journey to the southward.'