That lay with a sparkle of water in its curve, as it were a star on the floor. Kim looked intently. Lurgan Sahib laid one hand gently on the nape of his neck, stroked it twice or thrice, and whispered: “Look! It shall come to life again, piece by piece. First the big piece shall join itself to two others on the right and the left—on the right and the left. Look!” To save his life, Kim could not have turned his head. The light touch held him as in a vice, and his blood tingled pleasantly through him. There was one large piece of the jar where there had been three, and above them the shadowy outline of the entire vessel. He could see the veranda through it, but it was thickening and darkening with each beat of his pulse. Yet the jar—how slowly the thoughts came!—the jar had been smashed before his eyes. Another wave of prickling fire raced down his neck, as Lurgan Sahib moved his hand. “Look! It is coming into shape,” said Lurgan Sahib. So far Kim had been thinking in Hindi, but a tremor came on him, and with an effort like that of a swimmer before sharks, who hurls himself half out of the water, his mind leaped up from a darkness that was swallowing it and took refuge in—the multiplication-table in English! “Look! It is coming into shape,” whispered Lurgan Sahib. The jar had been smashed—yess, smashed—not the native word, he would not think of that—but smashed—into fifty pieces, and twice three was six, and thrice three was nine, and four times three was twelve. He clung desperately to the repetition. The shadow-outline of the jar cleared like a mist after rubbing eyes. There were the broken shards; there was the spilt water drying in the sun, and through the cracks of the veranda showed, all ribbed, the white house-wall below—and thrice twelve was thirty-six! “Look! Is it coming into shape?” asked Lurgan Sahib. “But it is smashed—smashed,” he gasped—Lurgan Sahib had been muttering softly for the last half-minute. Kim wrenched his head aside. “Look! _Dekho!_ It is there as it was there.” “It is there as it was there,” said Lurgan, watching Kim closely while the boy rubbed his neck. “But you are the first of many who has ever seen it so.” He wiped his broad forehead. “Was that more magic?” Kim asked suspiciously. The tingle had gone from his veins; he felt unusually wide awake. “No, that was not magic. It was only to see if there was—a flaw in a jewel. Sometimes very fine jewels will fly all to pieces if a man holds them in his hand, and knows the proper way. That is why one must be careful before one sets them. Tell me, did you see the shape of the pot?” “For a little time. It began to grow like a flower from the ground.” “And then what did you do? I mean, how did you think?” “Oah! I knew it was broken, and so, I think, that was what I thought—and it was broken.” “Hm! Has anyone ever done that same sort of magic to you before?” “If it was,” said Kim “do you think I should let it again? I should run away.”