edars, perfect in their pyramidal symmetry, rose spiring up
to arrow-like points a hundred, two hundred feet in the pure air.
Flowers dotted the grassy bottom; birds flitted here and there, and
sang. There was the delicious lemony odour emitted by the deodars, and
a dreamy feeling of its being good to live there always amidst so much
beauty; for other music beside that of birds added to the enhancement--
music supplied by the falling waters, sweet, silvery, tinkling, rising
and falling, mingling with the deep bass of a low, humming roar.

The three young men had wandered on and on along a steep track, more
than once sending the half-wild, goat-like sheep bounding away, and a
feeling of annoyance was strong upon them, which state of feeling found
vent in words, Drummond being the chief speaker.

"I don't care," he said; "it's just jolly rot of your old man. Wrayford
was bad enough, but old Graves is a tyrant. He has no business to tie
us down so."

"There's the enemy still in the hills," said Roberts.

"Yes, but whacked, and all the other tribes ready to follow the example
of those fellows who have come down to make peace and fight against the
rest who hold out. They're not fools."

"Not a bit of it," said Bracy. "They're as keen as men can be; but I
shouldn't like to trust them."

"Nor I," said Roberts. "They're too keen."

"There you are," said Drummond petulantly. "That's the Englishman all
over. You fellows keep the poor beggars at a distance, and that makes
them wild when they want to be friends. If every one had acted in that
spirit, where should we have been all through India?"

"Same place as we are now," said Bracy, laughing.

"Right, old fellow," said Roberts. "We've conquered the nation, and the
people feel that they're a conquered race, and will never feel quite
reconciled to our rule."

"Well, I don't know," said Bracy. "I'm not very well up in these
matters, but I think there are hundreds of thousands in India who do
like our rule; for it is firm and just, and keeps down the constant
fighting of the past."

"Bother!" cried Drummond pettishly: "there's no arguing against you two
beggars. You're so pig-headed. Never mind all that. These thingamy
Dwats have come down to make peace--haven't they?"

"You thought otherwise," said Bracy, laughing. "But, by the way, if we
two are pig-headed, aren't you rather hoggish--hedge-hoggish? I never
met such a spiky young Scot before."

"Scot