ying and singing, his caresses of the missionary's little girl and
his unstinted admiration of the little booted feet of the missionary's
lady, he would enliven the gathering as no one else could have done.
Another behaving so absurdly would have been deemed a bore, but his
transparent simplicity pleased all and drew them to join in his gaiety.

Srikantha Babu was impervious to rudeness or insolence. There was at the
time a singer of some repute retained in our establishment. When the
latter was the worse for liquor he would rail at poor Srikantha Babu's
singing in no very choice terms. This he would bear unflinchingly, with
no attempt at retort. When at last the man's incorrigible rudeness
brought about his dismissal Srikantha Babu anxiously interceded for him.
"It was not he, it was the liquor," he insisted.

[Illustration: The Ganges]

He could not bear to see anyone sorrowing or even to hear of it. So when
any one of the boys wanted to torment him they had only to read out
passages from Vidyasagar's "Banishment of Sita"; whereat he would be
greatly exercised, thrusting out his hands in protest and begging and
praying of them to stop.

This old man was the friend alike of my father, my elder brothers and
ourselves. He was of an age with each and every one of us. As any piece
of stone is good enough for the freshet to dance round and gambol with,
so the least provocation would suffice to make him beside himself with
joy. Once I had composed a hymn, and had not failed to make due allusion
to the trials and tribulations of this world. Srikantha Babu was
convinced that my father would be overjoyed at such a perfect gem of a
devotional poem. With unbounded enthusiasm he volunteered personally to
acquaint him with it. By a piece of good fortune I was not there at the
time but heard afterwards that my father was hugely amused that the
sorrows of the world should have so early moved his youngest son to the
point of versification. I am sure Gobinda Babu, the superintendent,
would have shown more respect for my effort on so serious a subject.

In singing I was Srikantha Babu's favorite pupil. He had taught me a
song: "No more of Vraja[18] for me," and would drag me about to
everyone's rooms and get me to sing it to them. I would sing and he
would thrum an accompaniment on his _sitar_ and when we came to the
chorus he would join in, and repeat it over and over again, smiling and
nodding his head at each one in turn, as if n