His own wedding! Ho! Ho! Ho! The mind of an old man is like the _numah_-tree. Fruit, bud, blossom, and the dead leaves of all the years of the past flourish together. Old and new and that which is gone out of remembrance, all three are there! Sit on the bedstead, Sahib, and drink milk. Or--would the Sahib in truth care to drink my tobacco? It is good. It is the tobacco of Nuklao. My son, who is in service there sent it to me. Drink, then, Sahib, if you know how to handle the tube. The Sahib takes it like a Musalman. Wah! Wah! Where did he learn that? His own wedding! Ho! Ho! Ho! The Sahib says that there is no wedding in the matter at all? Now _is_ it likely that the Sahib would speak true talk to me who am only a black man? Small wonder, then, that he is in haste. Thirty years have I beaten the gong at this ford, but never have I seen a Sahib in such haste. Thirty years, Sahib! That is a very long time. Thirty years ago this ford was on the track of the _bunjaras_, and I have seen two thousand pack-bullocks cross in one night. Now the rail has come, and the fire-carriage says _buz-buz-buz_, and a hundred lakhs of maunds slide across that big bridge. It is very wonderful; but the ford is lonely now that there are no _bunjaras_ to camp under the trees. Nay, do not trouble to look at the sky without. It will rain till the dawn. Listen! The boulders are talking to-night in the bed of the river. Hear them! They would be husking your bones, Sahib, had you tried to cross. See, I will shut the door and no rain can enter. _Wahi! Ahi! Ugh!_ Thirty years on the banks of the ford! An old man am I and--where is the oil for the lamp? * * * * * Your pardon, but, because of my years, I sleep no sounder than a dog; and you moved to the door. Look then, Sahib. Look and listen. A full half _kos_ from bank to bank is the stream now--you can see it under the stars--and there are ten feet of water therein. It will not shrink because of the anger in your eyes, and it will not be quiet on account of your curses. Which is louder, Sahib--your voice or the voice of the river? Call to it--perhaps it will be ashamed. Lie down and sleep afresh, Sahib. I know the anger of the Barhwi when there has fallen rain in the foot-hills. I swam the flood, once, on a night tenfold worse than this, and by the Favor of God I was released from Death when I had come to the very gates thereof. May I tell the tale? Very good talk. I will fill the pipe anew.