that befell on it. Surely it was a little to see me that thou didst
come?'

'The horses are cold, and it is past their feeding-time,' whined
the driver.

'Go to Jehannum and abide there with thy reputationless aunt!' Kim
snarled over his shoulder. 'I am all alone in this land; I know not
where I go nor what shall befall me. My heart was in that letter I
sent thee. Except for Mahbub Ali, and he is a Pathan, I have no
friend save thee, Holy One. Do not altogether go away.'

'I have considered that also,' the lama replied, in a shaking
voice. 'It is manifest that from time to time I shall acquire merit
if before that I have not found my River - by assuring myself
that thy feet are set on wisdom. What they will teach thee I do
not know, but the priest wrote me that no son of a Sahib in all
India will be better taught than thou. So from time to time,
therefore, I will come again. Maybe thou wilt be such a Sahib as he
who gave me these spectacles' - the lama wiped them elaborately -
'in the Wonder House at Lahore. That is my hope, for he was a
Fountain of Wisdom - wiser than many abbots .... Again, maybe thou
wilt forget me and our meetings.'

'If I eat thy bread,' cried Kim passionately, 'how shall I ever
forget thee?'

'No - no.' He put the boy aside. 'I must go back to
Benares. From time to time, now that I know the customs of letter-
writers in this land, I will send thee a letter, and from time to