flew Kim's hard little heel and caught him on his moist blue nose. He snorted indignantly, and walked away across the tram line, his hump quivering with rage.
'See! I have saved more than the bowl will cost thrice over. Now, mother, a little rice and some dried fish atop—yes, and some vegetable curry.'
A growl came out of the back of the shop, where a man lay.
'He drove away the bull,' said the woman in an undertone. 'It is good to give to the poor.' She took the bowl and returned it full of hot rice.
'But my yogi is not a cow,' said Kim, gravely making a hole with his fingers in the top of the mound. 'A little curry is good, and a dried cake, and a morsel of conserve would please him, I think.'
'It is a hole as big as thy head,' said the woman fretfully. But she filled it, none the less, with good, steaming vegetable curry, clapped a dried cake atop, and a morsel of clarified butter on the cake, dabbed a lump of sour tamarind conserve at the side; and Kim looked at the load lovingly.
'That is good. When I am in the bazar the bull shall not come to this house. He is a bold beggarman.'
'And thou?' laughed the woman. 'But speak well of bulls. Hast thou not told me that some day a bull will come out of a field to help thee? Now hold all straight and ask for the holy man's blessing upon me. Perhaps, too, he knows a cure for my daughter's sore eyes. Ask him that also, O thou Little Friend of all the World.'
But Kim had danced off ere the end of the sentence, dodging pariah dogs and hungry acquaintances.
'Thus do we beg who know the way of it,' said he proudly to the
