and the appreciative instinct of a craftsman.

Incident by incident in the beautiful story he identified on the
blurred stone, puzzled here and there by the unfamiliar Greek
convention, but delighted as a child at each new trove. Where the
sequence failed, as in the Annunciation, the Curator supplied it
from his mound of books - French and German, with photographs and
reproductions.

Here was the devout Asita, the pendant of Simeon in the Christian
story, holding the Holy Child on his knee while mother and father
listened; and here were incidents in the legend of the cousin
Devadatta. Here was the wicked woman who accused the Master of
impurity, all confounded; here was the teaching in the Deer-park;
the miracle that stunned the fire-worshippers; here was the
Bodhisat in royal state as a prince; the miraculous birth; the
death at Kusinagara, where the weak disciple fainted; while there
were almost countless repetitions of the meditation under the
Bodhi tree; and the adoration of the alms-bowl was everywhere. In
a few minutes the Curator saw that his guest was no mere bead-
telling mendicant, but a scholar of parts. And they went at it
all over again, the lama taking snuff, wiping his spectacles, and
talking at railway speed in a bewildering mixture of Urdu and
Tibetan. He had heard of the travels of the Chinese pilgrims, Fu-
Hiouen and Hwen-Tsiang, and was anxious to know if there was any
translation of their record. He drew in his breath as he turned
helplessly over the pages of Beal and Stanislas Julien. "Tis all
here. A treasure locked.' Then he composed himself reverently to
listen to fragments hastily rendered into Urdu. For the first
time he heard of the labours of European scholars, who by the