pressing small comforts upon the old man--a betel-box, a fine
new iron pencase, a food-bag, and such-like--warning him against the
dangers of the world without, and prophesying a happy end to the
Search. Meantime Kim, lonelier than ever, squatted on the steps, and
swore to himself in the language of St Xavier's.

'But it is my own fault,' he concluded. 'With Mahbub, I ate Mahbub's
bread, or Lurgan Sahib's. At St Xavier's, three meals a day. Here I
must jolly-well look out for myself. Besides, I am not in good
training. How I could eat a plate of beef now! ... Is it finished,
Holy One?'

The lama, both hands raised, intoned a final blessing in ornate
Chinese. 'I must lean on thy shoulder,' said he, as the temple gates
closed. 'We grow stiff, I think.'

The weight of a six-foot man is not light to steady through miles of
crowded streets, and Kim, loaded down with bundles and packages for the
way, was glad to reach the shadow of the railway bridge.

'Here we eat,' he said resolutely, as the Kamboh, blue-robed and
smiling, hove in sight, a basket in one hand and the child in the other.

'Fall to, Holy Ones!' he cried from fifty yards. (They were by the
shoal under the first bridge-span, out of sight of hungry priests.)
'Rice and good curry, cakes all warm and well scented with hing
[asafoetida], curds and sugar. King of my fields,'--this to the small
son--'let us show these holy men that we Jats of Jullundur can pay a
service ... I had heard the Jains would eat nothing that they had not
cooked, but truly'--he looked away politely over the broad
river--'where there is no eye there is no caste.'

'And we,' said Kim, turning his back and heaping a leafplatter for the
lama, 'are beyond all castes.'

They gorged themselves on the good food in silence. Nor till he had
licked the last of the sticky sweetstuff from his little finger did Kim
note that the Kamboh too was girt for travel.

'If our roads lie together,' he said roughly, 'I go with thee. One
does not often find a worker of miracles, and the child is still weak.
But I am not altogether a reed.' He picked up his lathi--a five-foot
male-bamboo ringed with bands of polished iron--and flourished it in
the air. 'The Jats are called quarrel-some, but that is not true.
Except when we are crossed, we are like our own buffaloes.'

'So be it,' said Kim. 'A good stick is a good reason.'

The lama gazed placidly up-stream, where in long, smudged perspect