“It is my loss,” Kim began. “Even now I had planned desirable things in my heart which”—there is no need to go through the compliments proper to these occasions. He sighed deeply ... “But my master, led by a vision—” “Huh! What can old eyes see except a full begging-bowl?” “—turns from this village to the Plains again.” “Bid him stay.” Kim shook his head. “I know my Holy One, and his rage if he be crossed,” he replied impressively. “His curses shake the Hills.” “Pity they did not save him from a broken head! I heard that thou wast the tiger-hearted one who smote the Sahib. Let him dream a little longer. Stay!” “Hillwoman,” said Kim, with austerity that could not harden the outlines of his young oval face, “these matters are too high for thee.” “The Gods be good to us! Since when have men and women been other than men and women?” “A priest is a priest. He says he will go upon this hour. I am his _chela_, and I go with him. We need food for the Road. He is an honoured guest in all the villages, but”—he broke into a pure boy’s grin—“the food here is good. Give me some.” “What if I do not give it thee? I am the woman of this village.” “Then I curse thee—a little—not greatly, but enough to remember.” He could not help smiling. “Thou hast cursed me already by the down-dropped eyelash and the uplifted chin. Curses? What should I care for mere words?” She clenched her hands upon her bosom ... “But I would not have thee to go in anger, thinking hardly of me—a gatherer of cow-dung and grass at Shamlegh, but still a woman of substance.” “I think nothing,” said Kim, “but that I am grieved to go, for I am very weary; and that we need food. Here is the bag.”