The superintendent’s wife was a charitable, gentle lady, and accepted the weary, half-starved wayfarers into her household. A servant--one of their own caste--shared his “go-down” with them, and they were bathed, fed, and their sores attended to. In a short time they looked totally different--such is the effect of kindness. They went to visit their father at stated periods, and when Girunda related his life of toil and blows at his uncle’s hands, Chūnnee’s straight brows grew very black. The charitable lady who had given them a shelter did more than feed and clothe them; they were included among her servants’ children, who learnt from a munshi, and were taught at her expense. The munshi, with his blue spectacles, sat in the midst of them, and every week there were prizes of fruit, and twice a year of clothes. They were also permitted to pick withered leaves in the lady’s lovely garden, and Girunda was proud when he was allowed to carry a pot; and sometimes their father worked there also, with a few other favoured convicts. And oh, what a garden that was!--even to a _blasé_ European eye, an exquisite spot; how much more to two ignorant native children, who have never seen any flowers but marigolds? The steps from the house led down into a great spreading lawn, green and smooth as velvet, and surrounded by wide walks, bordered with bushes of magnificent roses. Beyond the lawn, and leading straight out of it, lay an avenue of loquat trees, which was lined with stands of maiden-hair ferns, orchids, arum lilies, jheel plants--a truly fairy-like scene. There were long alleys overhung with fruit trees and flowers; there were enormous bushes of yellow roses--in one tree a pair of bulbuls had their nest--a large, square plot covered with a dense crop of variegated sweet peas. There was, moreover, a big vinery, a quantity of fruitful peach trees, a cote of pigeons, with nearly two hundred in the branches of a mango tree, and a house full of white rabbits with ruby eyes! Truly, when they were permitted to enter this garden, Girunda said to his sister, “Behold, this must be the place the preaching moola meant when he spoke of the garden of Paradise!” The wheel of fortune turns, and strange events do occur at times, even in a mud village, in an obscure locality. Old Turroo Sing had been wise in his generation; he had not grudged to offer a considerable reward for news of, or the recovery of, his lost treasure. For eight weary months no tidings reached him, and he had almost prepared to await the coming of death, a broken-hearted man, when, lo! one day six gay policemen--I allude to their red turbans, yellow trousers, and blue tunics--were once more seen approaching the village. The inspector had come to see Turroo, to confer with him privately. When the door was closed fast, the inspector drew forth a heavy gold bangle, and placed it in the old man’s withered, trembling hands. “Is this yours?” he asked.