hollow of the well. He was calling me
to join them. I rose, rather reluctantly, from my books and moved
through the trees to where they were.

"Griggs," Isaacs called out before I had reached him, "here is an old
fellow who knows something. I really believe he is something of a yogi."

"What ridiculous nonsense," I said impatiently, "who ever heard of a
yogi living in a temple and feeding on the fat of the land in the way
all these men do? Is that all you wanted?" Miss Westonhaugh, peering
down into the depths of the well, laughed gaily.

"I told you so! Never try to make Mr. Griggs swallow that kind of thing.
Besides, he is a 'cynic' you know."

"As far as personal appearance goes, Miss Westonhaugh, I think your
friend the Brahmin there stands more chance of being taken for a
philosopher of that school. He really does not look particularly well
fed, in spite of the riches I thought he possessed." He was a
strange-looking old man, with a white beard and a small badly-rolled
pugree. His black eyes were filmy and disagreeable to look at. I
addressed him in Hindustani, and told him what Isaacs said, that he
thought he was a yogi. The old fellow did not look at me, nor did the
bleared eyes give any sign of intelligence. Nevertheless he answered my
question.

"Of what avail that I do wonders for you who believe not?" he asked, and
his voice sounded cracked and far off.

"It will avail thee several coins, friend," I answered, "both rupees and
pais. Reflect that there may be bucksheesh in store for thee, and do a
miracle."

"I will not do wonders for bucksheesh," said the priest, and began to
hobble away. Isaacs stepped lightly to his side and whispered something
in his ear. The ancient Brahmin turned.

"Then I will do a wonder for you, but I want no bucksheesh. I will do it
for the lady with white hair, whose face resembles Chunder." He looked
long and fixedly at Miss Westonhaugh. "Let the _sahib log_ come with me
a stone's throw from the well, and let one sahib call his servant and
bid him draw water that he may wash his hands. And I will do this
wonder; the man shall not draw any water, though he had the strength of
Siva, until I say the word." So we moved away under the trees, and I
shouted for Kiramat Ali, who came running down, and I told him to send a
_bhisti_, a water-carrier, with his leathern bucket. Then we waited.
Presently the man came, with bucket and rope.

"Draw water, that I may wash my hands," sai