The expedition having been decided on, Rahmut sent Dilasah himself to Peshawar in the disguise of a pedlar, to discover what he could of the composition of the British force and the date of its setting out. Meanwhile he was troubled by the request that Ahmed had made to be allowed to join the expedition. The boy had shown himself brave and resourceful; and Rahmut felt that if he took arms against his countrymen the last link would be removed between him and them. On the other hand, he did not fail to see that the expedition would be a dangerous one, and though he believed that he could carry it through successfully, he was anxious to keep Ahmed out of harm's way, and especially to run no risk of his falling into English hands. If Ahmed should be taken prisoner, the old chief feared lest the contact with Englishmen should awaken race feelings now dormant, and the boy be lost to him. So, after much hesitation and much pleading on the part of Ahmed, the old chief told him kindly enough that he was not to accompany him, but to be left in charge of the village during his absence. Ahmed was deeply disappointed. Rahmut gave him no reasons for his decision; he was a wise old man; reasons could be combated and overcome. When Ahmed asked Ahsan why his father was so loath to let him try his manhood, Ahsan confessed that he did not know, which was true and yet untrue; for, though the chief had not told him, Ahsan had made a shrewd guess. "Rahmut does not wish it ever to be said of you, 'He takes off his clothes before he reaches the water,'" said Ahsan, quoting a proverb against precipitancy. "Why fear?" he went on. "'Milk even in good time becomes curds.' He who has patience wins. It will come to you in good time to lead men and do great things." "I hate your proverbs," said Ahmed; "they have no comfort in them. Will my father never see that I am grown up?" "Thou wouldst not fight against thy own countrymen, Ahmed-ji?" "Why not? Sherdil fights against his countrymen, why not I? And they are my countrymen no longer; my countrymen are here. What have I to do with these strangers who come lording it over the free people of the hills?" "Hush, Ahmed-ji!" said the old man. "Children cry to their parents. To speak ill of the Feringhis is to speak ill of yourself. Let be, my son; what a man desires he will gain if it be God's will." And Ahmed, being a sensible boy, did not nurse his disappointment. But perhaps the old chief would have changed his mind had he known that his refusal had only made the boy more eager to see the white men of whom Sherdil had told him so much.