smooth, handsome face fantastically streaked with yellow,
follows silently behind as I walk around the building. His object is
evidently to satisfy himself that nothing is touched by my unhallowed
Christian hands.

Seven miles from Bhogan is the camping ground of Bheyo, where in
December, 1869, an English soldier was assassinated in the night while
standing sentry beneath a tree. His grave, beneath the gnarled mango
where he fell, is marked by two wooden crosses, and the tree-trunk is all
covered with memorial plates nailed there, from time to time, by the
various troops who have camped here on their winter marches.

Twenty-eight miles are duly reeled off when, just outside a village, I
seek the shade of a magnificent banyan. The kindly villagers,
unaccustomed to seeing a Sahib without someone attending to his comfort,
bring me a charpoy to recline on, and they inquire anxiously, "roti?
pahni? doctor." (am I hungry, thirsty, or ill?). Nor are these people
actuated by mercenary thoughts, for not a pice will they accept on my
departure. "Nay, Sahib, nay," they reply, eagerly, smiling and shaking
their heads, "pice, nay." The narrow-gauge Rohilcuud Railway now follows
along the Grand Trunk road, being built on one edge of the broad
road-bed. Miran Serai, a station on this road, is my destination for the
day; there, however, no friendly dak bungalow awaits my coming and no
hostelry of any kind is to be found.

The native station-master advises me to go to the superintendent of
police across the way; the police-officer, in turn, suggests applying to
the station-master. The police-thana here is a large establishment, and a
number of petty prisoners are occupying railed-off enclosures beneath the
arched entrance. They accost me through the bars of their temporary,
cage-like prison with smiles, and "Sahib" spoken in coaxing tones, as
though moved by the childish hope that I might perchance take pity on
them and order the police to set them at liberty.

A small and pardonable display of "bounce" at the railway station finally
secures me the quarters reserved for the accommodation of English
officers of the road, and a Mohammedan employe about the station procures
me a supply of curried rice and meat. The station-master himself is a
high-caste Hindoo and can speak English; he politely explains the
difficulty of his position, as an extra-holy person, in being unable to
personally attend to the wants of a Sahib. Upon discovering