now with the soup. Think you that we who serve Creighton Sahib need strange scullions to help us through a big dinner?'
'It is a very big dinner,' said Kim, looking at the plates.
'Small wonder. The guest of honour is none other than the Jang-i-lat Sahib (the Commander-in-Chief).'
'Ho!' said Kim, with a guttural note of wonder. He had learned what he wanted, and when the scullion turned round he was gone.
'And all that trouble,' said he to himself, thinking as usual in Hindustanee, 'for a horse's pedigree. Mahbub Ali should have come to me to learn a little lying. Every time before that I have borne a message it concerned a woman. Now it is men. The tall man said that they will loose a great army to punish some one—somewhere—the news goes to Pindi and Peshawur. There are also guns. Would I have crept nearer. It is big news!'
He returned to find the cultivator's cousin's younger brother discussing the family law-suit in all its bearings with the cultivator and his wife and a few friends, while the lama dozed. After the evening meal some one passed him a water-pipe; and Kim felt very much of a man as he pulled at the smooth cocoanut shell, his legs spread abroad in the moonlight, his tongue clicking in remarks from time to time. His hosts were most polite; for the cultivator's wife had told them of his vision of the Red Bull, and of his probable descent from another world. Moreover, the lama was a great and venerable curiosity. The family priest, an old tolerant Sarsut Brahmin, dropped in later, and naturally started a theological argument to impress the family. By creed, of course, they were all on the priest's side, but the lama was the guest and the novelty. His gentle kindliness, and his impressive Chinese quotations, that sounded like spells, delighted them hugely; and in this sympathetic simple air, he expanded like the Bodhisat's own lotus,
