as the failure to be up to the standard.

My father had also a way of picturing to himself every detail of what he
wanted done. On the occasion of any ceremonial gathering, at which he
could not be present, he would think out and assign the place for each
thing, the duty for each member of the family, the seat for each guest;
nothing would escape him. After it was all over he would ask each one
for a separate account and thus gain a complete impression of the whole
for himself. So, while I was with him on his travels, though nothing
would induce him to put obstacles in the way of my amusing myself as I
pleased, he left no loophole in the strict rules of conduct which he
prescribed for me in other respects.

Our first halt was to be for a few days at Bolpur. Satya had been there
a short time before with his parents. No self-respecting nineteenth
century infant would have credited the account of his travels which he
gave us on his return. But we were different, and had had no opportunity
of learning to determine the line between the possible and the
impossible. Our Mahabharata and Ramayana gave us no clue to it. Nor had
we then any children's illustrated books to guide us in the way a child
should go. All the hard and fast laws which govern the world we learnt
by knocking up against them.

Satya had told us that, unless one was very very expert, getting into a
railway carriage was a terribly dangerous affair--the least slip, and
it was all up. Then, again, a fellow had to hold on to his seat with all
his might, otherwise the jolt at starting was so tremendous there was no
telling where one would get thrown off to. So when we got to the railway
station I was all a-quiver. So easily did we get into our compartment,
however, that I felt sure the worst was yet to come. And when, at
length, we made an absurdly smooth start, without any semblance of
adventure, I felt woefully disappointed.

The train sped on; the broad fields with their blue-green border trees,
and the villages nestling in their shade flew past in a stream of
pictures which melted away like a flood of mirages. It was evening when
we reached Bolpur. As I got into the palanquin I closed my eyes. I
wanted to preserve the whole of the wonderful vision to be unfolded
before my waking eyes in the morning light. The freshness of the
experience would be spoilt, I feared, by incomplete glimpses caught in
the vagueness of the dusk.

When I woke at dawn my heart was