native proverb. The lama tried to rise, but sank back again,
sighing for his disciple, dead in far-away Kulu. Kim watched head
to one side, considering and interested.

'Give me the bowl. I know the people of this city - all who are
charitable. Give, and I will bring it back filled.'

Simply as a child the old man handed him the bowl.

'Rest, thou. I know the people.'

He trotted off to the open shop of a kunjri, a low-caste
vegetable-seller, which lay opposite the belt-tramway line down
the Motee Bazar. She knew Kim of old.

'Oho, hast thou turned yogi with thy begging-bowl?' she cried.

'Nay.' said Kim proudly. 'There is a new priest in the city - a man
such as I have never seen.'

'Old priest - young tiger,' said the woman angrily. 'I am tired
of new priests! They settle on our wares like flies. Is the
father of my son a well of charity to give to all who ask?'

'No,' said Kim. 'Thy man is rather yagi [bad-tempered] than yogi
[a holy man]. But this priest is new. The Sahib in the Wonder
House has talked to him like a brother. O my mother, fill me this
bowl. He waits.'

'That bowl indeed! That cow-bellied basket! Thou hast as much