“Thy Gods useless, heh? Try mine. I am the Woman of Shamlegh.” She hailed hoarsely, and there came out of a cow-pen her two husbands and three others with a _dooli_, the rude native litter of the Hills, that they use for carrying the sick and for visits of state. “These cattle”—she did not condescend to look at them—“are thine for so long as thou shalt need.” “But we will not go Simla-way. We will not go near the Sahibs,” cried the first husband. “They will not run away as the others did, nor will they steal baggage. Two I know for weaklings. Stand to the rear-pole, Sonoo and Taree.” They obeyed swiftly. “Lower now, and lift in that holy man. I will see to the village and your virtuous wives till ye return.” “When will that be?” “Ask the priests. Do not pester me. Lay the food-bag at the foot, it balances better so.” “Oh, Holy One, thy Hills are kinder than our Plains!” cried Kim, relieved, as the lama tottered to the litter. “It is a very king’s bed—a place of honour and ease. And we owe it to—” “A woman of ill-omen. I need thy blessings as much as I do thy curses. It is _my_ order and none of thine. Lift and away! Here! Hast thou money for the road?” She beckoned Kim to her hut, and stooped above a battered English cash-box under her cot. “I do not need anything,” said Kim, angered where he should have been grateful. “I am already rudely loaded with favours.” She looked up with a curious smile and laid a hand on his shoulder. “At least, thank me. I am foul-faced and a hillwoman, but, as thy talk goes, I have acquired merit. Shall I show thee how the Sahibs render thanks?” and her hard eyes softened. “I am but a wandering priest,” said Kim, his eyes lighting in answer. “Thou needest neither my blessings nor my curses.” “Nay. But for one little moment—thou canst overtake the _dooli_ in ten strides—_if_ thou wast a Sahib, shall I show thee what thou wouldst do?” “How if I guess, though?” said Kim, and putting his arm round her waist, he kissed her on the cheek, adding in English: “Thank you verree much, my dear.” Kissing is practically unknown among Asiatics, which may have been the reason that she leaned back with wide-open eyes and a face of panic. “Next time,” Kim went on, “you must not be so sure of your heatthen priests. Now I say good-bye.” He held out his hand English-fashion. She took it mechanically. “Good-bye, my dear.” “Good-bye, and—and”—she was remembering her English words one by one—“you will come back again? Good-bye, and—thee God bless you.” Half an hour later, as the creaking litter jolted up the hill path that leads south-easterly from Shamlegh, Kim saw a tiny figure at the hut door waving a white rag. “She has acquired merit beyond all others,” said the lama. “For to set a man upon the way to Freedom is half as great as though she had herself found it.”