marks about the chaplain's mettle; and to abash him Bennett had marched step by step with the men that day. The black dress, gold cross on the watch-chain, the hairless face, and the soft, black wide-awake hat would have marked him as a holy man anywhere in all India. He dropped into a camp-chair by the door of the mess-tent and slid off his boots. Three or four officers gathered round him, laughing and joking over his exploit.
'The talk of white men is wholly lacking in dignity,' said the lama, who judged only by tones. 'But I have considered the countenance of that priest, and I think he is courteous. Is it likely that he will understand our talk? I would talk to him of my search.'
'Never speak to a white man till he is fed,' said Kim quoting a well-known proverb. 'They will eat now, and—and I do not think they are good to beg from. Let us go back to the resting-place. After we have eaten we will come again. It certainly was a Red Bull—my Red Bull.'
They were both noticeably absent-minded when the old lady's retinue set their meal before them; so none broke their reserve, for it is not lucky to annoy guests.
'Now,' said Kim, picking his teeth, 'we will return to that 'place; but thou, O Holy One, must wait a little way off, because thy feet are heavier than mine and I am anxious to see more of that Red Bull.'
'But how canst thou understand the talk? Walk slowly. The road is very dark,' the lama replied uneasily.
Kim put the question aside. 'I marked a place near to the trees,' said he, 'where thou canst sit till I call. Nay,' as the lama made some sort of protest, 'remember this is my search—the search for my Red Bull. The sign in the stars was not for thee. I
