Nothing would induce her to drink spirits, but the other servants are not like her. The _mussaul_ is not a bad man, but the “Bootrail’s” example infects him too. He barters the kerosine oil at the petty shop round the corner for arrack. As for the _hamal_, she is tired of fighting with him. From this account of herself you will be able to infer that the _Ayah_ is not a favourite with the other servants; but she is powerful, and so with oriental prudence they veil their feelings. The butler indeed, tries to be proud and risks ruin, but the _mussaul_ truckles to her, and the cook, who can spoil her dinner, and has some control over her, trims between her and the butler. The _hamal_ is impracticable, and the _chupprassees_ adhere to the party in power for the time being. The _Ayah_ is the “society” newspaper of small stations, and is indispensable. The barber is the general newsagent, and, as we part with our beards in the morning, we learn from him all particulars of the dinner at the general’s last night, and of the engagement that resulted between the pretty Missy Baba and the captain who has been so much about the house; also when the marriage is to take place, if the captain can get out of his debts, the exact amount of which Old Tom knows. He can tell us, too, the reason why she “jawaubed” him so often, being put up to it by her mother in the interests of a rival suitor, and he has authentic information as to the real grounds of the mother’s change of tactics. But Old Tom is himself dependent on _Ayahs_, and there are matters beyond his range, matters which even in an Indian station cannot reach us by any male channel. They trickle from _madam_ to _Ayah_, from _Ayah_ to _Ayah_, and from _Ayah_ to _madam_. Thus they ooze from house to house, and we are all saved from judging our neighbours by outward appearances. That scene in the Ladies’ Gymkhana comes back and haunts me. What if the impress of those swarthy lips on that fair cheek are but an outward symbol of impressions on a mind still as fair and pure, impressions which soap and water will not purge away! Yes, it is so. The _Ayah_ hangs like a black cloud over and around the infant mind, and its earliest outlooks on the world are tinted by that medium. It lies with wondering blue eyes watching the coloured toys which she dangles before it, and takes in the elements of form and colour. She pats it to sleep, and, on the borders of dream-land, those “sphere-born, harmonious sisters, voice and verse,” visit it in the form of a plaintive ditty, which has for its simple burden, Little, little fish In bitter, bitter oil. I will not part with one of them for three pice and a half.