The camp sometimes found itself in the vicinity of a large station, where it had its own quarters in the dignified seclusion of a mango tope, far aloof from bungalows, barracks, and bazaar. It came to pass that one morning Mr. Gordon's tents were pitched under a grove, not far from Chitachar cantonment, an out-of-the-way place, with a small garrison, and a sociable community. The chief residents called on Mrs. Gordon, the party were made honorary members of mess and club, the bazaar master sent an oblation of flowers and fruit, and the nearest local Thalukdar galloped in with his ragged horsemen to pay his respects to the Commissioner. Chitachar had been a post of importance previous to the mutiny, much fighting had it witnessed; here and there a small walled-in space, resembling a garden, exhibited not merely shrubs and flowering trees, but tombstones. Desperate actions had been fought in unexpected localities, and even now it was whispered that the old commissariat stores,—formerly a fort,—were well supplied with water and ammunition, "in case anything should happen." Surely nothing could ever disturb the calm of this peaceful spot, with its plains of green turf, the resort of cricketers and children, and its bungalows embowered in roses, its majestic trees and English-looking church? Mr. Gordon liked Chitachar; it was his first station in India; thirty years previously he had arrived here as a raw-boned Scotchman, dour, clever, and sternly determined to get on. Here, he had lived in one of the cheapest bungalows in the cheapest fashion; here he had learnt Hindustani, self-confidence, and self-control. Here, he had nearly been fool enough to marry the daughter of a railway contractor; here, he returned a great man, travelling in semi-regal state, drawing a large income, the little king of the whole district. Mrs. Gordon, Mr. Lindsay, and Angel, availed themselves promptly of the use of the station club. It was a modest establishment in comparison to the one at Ramghur: merely a long, flat-roofed building opening on the road, and overlooking the green plain, surrounded with bungalows and gardens. Immediately in front were two tennis courts, and a raised structure resembling a band-stand, where people assembled to drink tea. In the interior were two large rooms, divided by a screen; in one, stood a venerable billiard table, in the other, a round table covered with magazine and papers. The walls of both were lined with books, and at the back ran dressing-rooms, and a lair, where the club peon boiled hot water, and made out the accounts. The resources of the club were pathetically limited, nevertheless it was most popular; all the community assembled there every afternoon, and many people at home in Cheltenham, Bayswater, and elsewhere, still cherish kindly memories of the Chitachar club. * * * * *