"And there he was beside me, the two white faces, the yellow heads--for he was but a boy himself, slim, white, yellow-haired--close together, brother-like, buying a garland of the biggest marigolds I had. So down at the water's edge, he teaching the child how to throw them in like a thrower. "'No underhand work, brotherling,' he said in our tongue, for the baby, after the fashion of the _baba-logue_, knew none other. 'So! straight from the shoulder. Bravo! Thou wilt play crickets, by-and-by, like a man.' "After that once of chance, it came often of set purpose. He would come down from the house with the child, and I had to keep the biggest marigolds for the game, since, see you, they held the bits of brick better with which he weighted them. "Thus it went on till one day all the _sahibs_ and _mems_ were at the house yonder, for God knows what amusement! and in the cool they strolled down here--the _mems_ dressed so gay, the _sahibs_ all black and smoking--to see how well the toddler, who could scarce speak, had learnt to throw. At least, so it seemed, for they watched and laughed; but after a time they took to throwing the flowers themselves, laughing more and jesting, until not a marigold was left. Then they began on Shivjee's _dhatura_ blossoms, filling their white horns with pebbles, and hurling them far, far into the stream. "So, when paying time came, the young _sahib_--he had the child by the hand--flung rupees into my empty basket, and said, 'Lo! Bishen'--for he was one of those who remember names--'those who seek to curry favour with the gods will have no chance to-day. We are beforehand. We have squared them.' "At this the _mem_, standing close by, frowned and spoke some reproof; maybe because she was of those who drive to church often. But the boy only laughed, and, catching the child up, cried, 'Lo! brotherling, then are we sinners indeed; since we do it so often, you and I!' "And with that he raced up the steps with the child, calling '_Râm, Râm!_' and '_Jai Kâli Ma!_' like any worshipper; so that the _mem_ and the others strolling after could not but laugh. And some echoed the cry as they went up the steps." The old voice paused in its even sing-song; and when it began again, there was a new note in it which seemed to bring a sense of hurry and stress even to that uttermost peace. "But they came down again. How long after matters not. I see them so in my old eyes. Going up, laughing in the sunset, then returning. It was starlight when they came down, the _mems_ and the _sahibs_ and the _baba-logue_. Starlight as it was now, brethren, but not still, like this. There were cries, and flames yonder, and folk running.