he would find a furry ape sharing his
blanket. All day long, one or other of the tribe would sit by his side,
staring out at the snows, crooning and looking unspeakably wise and
sorrowful.

After the monkeys came the barasingh, that big deer which is like our
red deer, but stronger. He wished to rub off the velvet of his horns
against the cold stones of Kali's statue, and stamped his feet when he
saw the man at the shrine. But Purun Bhagat never moved, and, little by
little, the royal stag edged up and nuzzled his shoulder. Purun Bhagat
slid one cool hand along the hot antlers, and the touch soothed the
fretted beast, who bowed his head, and Purun Bhagat very softly rubbed
and ravelled off the velvet. Afterward, the barasingh brought his doe
and fawn--gentle things that mumbled on the holy man's blanket--or would
come alone at night, his eyes green in the fire-flicker, to take his
share of fresh walnuts. At last, the musk-deer, the shyest and almost
the smallest of the deerlets, came, too, her big rabbity ears erect;
even brindled, silent mushick-nabha must needs find out what the
light in the shrine meant, and drop out her moose-like nose into Purun
Bhagat's lap, coming and going with the shadows of the fire. Purun
Bhagat called them all "my brothers," and his low call of "Bhai! Bhai!"
would draw them from the forest at noon if they were within ear shot.
The Himalayan black bear, moody and suspicious--Sona, who has the
V-shaped white mark under his chin--passed that way more than once; and
since the Bhagat showed no fear, Sona showed no anger, but watched him,
and came closer, and begged a share of the caresses, and a dole of bread
or wild berries. Often, in the still dawns, when the Bhagat would climb
to the very crest of the pass to watch the red day walking along the
peaks of the snows, he would find Sona shuffling and grunting at his
heels, thrusting, a curious fore-paw under fallen trunks, and bringing
it away with a WHOOF of impatience; or his early steps would wake Sona
where he lay curled up, and the great brute, rising erect, would think
to fight, till he heard the Bhagat's voice and knew his best friend.

Nearly all hermits and holy men who live apart from the big cities have
the reputation of being able to work miracles with the wild things, but
all the miracle lies in keeping still, in never making a hasty movement,
and, for a long time, at least, in never looking directly at a visitor.
The villagers saw t