'She has acquired merit,' returned the lama. 'Peradventure it was a nun.'
'Ay, there be ten thousand such nuns in Amritzar alone. Return, old man, or the train may depart without thee,' cried the banker.
'Not only was it sufficient for the ticket, but for a little food also,' said Kim, leaping to his place. 'Now eat, Holy One. Look. Day comes!'
Golden, rose, saffron, and pink, the morning mists smoked away across the flat green levels. All the rich Punjab lay out in the splendour of the keen sun. The lama flinched a little as the telegraph posts swung by.
'Great is the speed of the train,' said the banker, with a patronizing grin. 'We have gone farther since Lahore than thou couldst walk in two days: at even, we shall enter Umballa.'
'And that is still far from Benares,' said the lama wearily, mumbling over the cakes that Kim offered. They all unloosed their bundles and made their morning meal. Then the banker, the cultivator, and the soldier prepared their pipes and wrapped the compartment in choking, acrid smoke, spitting and coughing and enjoying themselves. The Sikh and the cultivator's wife chewed pan; the lama took snuff and told his beads, while Kim, cross-legged, smiled over the comfort of a full stomach.
'What rivers have ye by Benares?' said the lama of a sudden to the carriage at large.
'We have Gunga,' returned the banker, when the little titter had subsided.
'What others?'
'What need for other than Gunga?'
