When we came away, the portly Abdur Rashid took a ceremonious and courtly leave, but Abdul Wahid walked part of the way home with me. He did not talk. He was dressed in pure Afghan costume of the plainest kind. A loose brown coat or robe reaching to the knee, plain blue turban and a thin brown cloak, or lungi, of camels’ hair draped in classic folds over his shoulders. I never saw anyone who could throw the end of the cloak over the left shoulder so negligently, and yet have it fall in such folds as he could. [Sidenote: Afghan desire for Vaccination.] The old Hakim departed on his way home, and we met the “Master of the Carpets,” Bai Mahomed Khan. He apparently had been lying in wait for us, and he begged me to come to his house and vaccinate his infant son. As I had plenty of lymph we went on to his house to do so. We waited in the porch while he went in to drive all the women away; consequently, the child had to be undressed and held by a man-servant. In the afternoon, two of the little Prince’s Kaffir slave boys were sent to my house to be vaccinated; and on succeeding days several more were sent for the same purpose. Many people, even those not attached to the Court, came and asked, as a favour, that I would vaccinate their children. Some cases I was, of necessity, obliged to postpone until I could get a further supply of lymph. In Kabul, I saw many people suffering from the frightful results of that dread disease, Small-pox, when it seizes upon those unprotected by vaccination. In England, where vaccination is so universal, it is rare to see a bad case. I visited the Prince every day for about a fortnight. Abdul Wahid generally met me at the house. He and I were to attend to the Prince’s health and up-bringing. Abdur Rashid did not appear after the first visit. I did not vehemently press European innovations after the first day or two, for the Armenian said, with useful sagacity:-- “Sir, suppose you take away bandages and head coverings, and curtains, and Shahzada Sahib take cold, blame come upon you. Better you let the women do in Afghan custom, then no harm come for you.” I took his advice, and the more willingly, because none of my suggestions had, hitherto, produced the slightest effect. For immovable obstinacy there is nothing to match the conservatism of an Eastern woman. I soon became friendly with the little Prince, and trotted him on my knee, or walked about the room with him in my arms. I never kissed him, for I thought it better to consider the religious scruples of the Sultana. Being a Feringhi there was always a chance that I _might_ have eaten pig. One day he was very merry, and was laughing when I said good-bye and left the room. Immediately one of the old nurses followed me out and begged a hair from my head, so that no evil should result from my having left him while he was laughing. The hair was burnt with due ceremony. [Sidenote: The Dreadful Old Lady and her Suggestion.]