branch of a river beyond. But if ye need water I can give that—and milk.'
'Nay, we will go to the river,' said the lama, striding out.
'Milk and a meal,' the man stammered, as he looked at the strange tall figure. 'I—I would not draw evil upon myself—or my crops; but beggars are so many in these hard days.'
'Take notice,' the lama turned to Kim. 'He was led to speak harshly by the Red Mist of anger. That clearing from his eyes, he becomes courteous and of an affable heart. May his fields be blessed. Beware not to judge men too hastily, O farmer.'
'I have met holy ones who would have cursed thee from hearth-stone to byre,' said Kim to the abashed man. 'Is he not wise and holy? I am his disciple.'
He cocked his nose in the air loftily and stepped across the narrow field-borders, swelling with importance.
'There is no pride,' said the lama, after a pause, 'there is no pride among such as follow the Middle Way.'
'But thou hast said he was low caste and discourteous.'
'Low caste I did not say, for how can that be which is not? Afterward he amended his discourtesy, and I forgot the offence. Moreover, he is as we are, bound upon the Wheel of Things; but he does not tread the way of deliverance.' He halted at a little runlet among the fields, and considered the hoof-pitted bank.
'Now, how wilt thou know thy river?' said Kim, squatting in the shade of some tall sugar-cane.
'When I find it, an enlightenment will surely be given. This, I feel, is not the place. O littlest among the waters, if only thou couldst tell me where runs my river! But be thou blest to make the fields bear!'
'Look! Look!' Kim sprang to his side and dragged him back.
