I was puzzled no longer. Again and again they crooned, as if their hearts would break, their version of the chorus of the “Wearing of the Green”— They’re hanging men and women too, For the wearing of the green. A diabolical inspiration came to me. One of the brats, a boy about eight years old, was watching me as he sang. I pulled out a rupee, held the coin between finger and thumb, and looked—only looked—at the gun against the wall. A grin of brilliant and perfect comprehension overspread the face of the child. Never for an instant stopping the song, he held out his hand for the money, and then slid the gun to my hand. I might have shot Namgay Doola as he chanted. But I was satisfied. The blood-instinct of the race held true. Namgay Doola drew the curtain across the recess. Angelus was over. “Thus my father sang. There is much more, but I have forgotten, and I do not know the purport of these words, but it may be that the God will understand. I am not of this people, and I will not pay revenue.” “And why?” Again that soul-compelling grin. “What occupation would be to me between crop and crop? It is better than scaring bears. But these people do not understand.” He picked the masks from the floor, and looked in my face as simply as a child. “By what road didst thou attain knowledge to make these devilries?” I said, pointing. “I cannot tell. I am but a Lepcha of Darjeeling, and yet the stuff——” “Which thou hast stolen.” “Nay, surely. Did I steal? I desired it so. The stuff—the stuff—what else should I have done with the stuff?” He twisted the velvet between his fingers. “But the sin of maiming the cow—consider that.” “That is true; but oh, Sahib, that man betrayed me, and I had no thought—but the heifer’s tail waved in the moonlight and I had my knife. What else should I have done? The tail came off ere I was aware. Sahib, thou knowest more than I.” “That is true,” said I. “Stay within the door. I go to speak to the King.” The population of the State were ranged on the hillsides. I went forth and spoke to the King. “O King,” said I. “Touching this man there be two courses open to thy wisdom. Thou canst either hang him from a tree, he and his brood, till there remains no hair that is red within the land.” “Nay,” said the King. “Why should I hurt the little children?” They had poured out of the hut door and were making plump obeisance to everybody. Namgay Doola waited with his gun across his arm.