That day Girunda and Gyannia walked five miles, resting in a nullah, under tufts of high grass, in the heat of the sun from nine till six--during which time the fierce hot winds roared over the land, and swept the roasted leaves up and down the roads, and shook the branches of the cork trees. How hot it was--every living thing seemed to have secured some shelter, save these forlorn children. The air was like a blast from a furnace, the very stones were scorching to the touch, and in the shallows, where a great river had rushed in the rains, there were now but a few shrunken pools in a stony bed; in these pools wallowed blue buffaloes (their hideous noses scarcely above water), enjoying a sort of tepid relief. That night the travellers halted in a village; a gwali’s (cowherd’s) wife was surprised to see an exhausted-looking boy carrying on his back a little girl, the little girl in her turn carrying a cat. She invited them in, and gave them milk, and asked from whence they came. “Paroor,” replied Girunda. “Paroor? Lo! it is six koss away. Do thy people know?” She eyed him with suspicion. “Yea; our uncle hath turned us out to beg.” “And where art thou going?” “To Shahjhanpur, where our father dwells.” “Shahjhanpur!” with a scream; “why, it is nigh thirty koss, and thou canst not walk there.” “There is no other means.” “Hast thou any money?” Girunda untied a rag, and proudly displayed his precious four-anna bit. He had never possessed such a sum in his life. “It may maintain thee for two or three days,” said the woman dubiously. “What work is thy father doing in Shahjhanpur?” “Some one said he was making matting,” rejoined the boy, simply. “He is in jail.” “In jail! Oh, ye fathers!” “Yea; he went three months ago.” “And what hath he done?--murder--robbery?” “He hath done naught. They just took him.” “But surely he must have robbed or plundered?” “Nay; he was always very poor. He had nothing to leave us but a sickle and this cat; but old Turroo Sing had all his money stolen.” “I see. And now it is buried somewhere,” she added significantly. “How long will thy father be in jail?” “Two years.” “A great time! Well, thou art weary, and must need rest. Lie here on this mat, and to-morrow I will give thee food to take thee on for a day or two--money I have none--and God will do the rest.” The next morning the children fared well. That good Samaritan, the gwali’s wife, secured them seats in a passing bullock-hackery, and thus they accomplished a considerable distance.