returning from a shrine. There were seniors who had requisitioned a
chance-met Rajah's elephant, in the name of St Francis Xavier, when
the Rains once blotted out the cart-track that led to their
father's estate, and had all but lost the huge beast in a
quicksand. There was a boy who, he said, and none doubted, had
helped his father to beat off with rifles from the veranda a rush
of Akas in the days when those head-hunters were bold against
lonely plantations.

And every tale was told in the even, passionless voice of the
native-born, mixed with quaint reflections, borrowed unconsciously
from native foster-mothers, and turns of speech that showed they
had been that instant translated from the vernacular. Kim watched,
listened, and approved. This was not insipid, single-word talk of
drummer-boys. It dealt with a life he knew and in part understood.
The atmosphere suited him, and he throve by inches. They gave him a
white drill suit as the weather warmed, and he rejoiced in the new-
found bodily comforts as he rejoiced to use his sharpened mind over
the tasks they set him. His quickness would have delighted an
English master; but at St Xavier's they know the first rush of
minds developed by sun and surroundings, as they know the half-
collapse that sets in at twenty-two or twenty-three.

None the less he remembered to hold himself lowly. When tales were
told of hot nights, Kim did not sweep the board with his
reminiscences; for St Xavier's looks down on boys who 'go native
all-together.' One must never forget that one is a Sahib, and that
some day, when examinations are passed, one will command natives.
Kim made a note of this, for he began to understand where
examinations led.