“Ay,” said Kim, humouring him. The boy was entirely happy to be out chewing _pan_ and seeing new people in the great good-tempered world. “It was a bull—a Red Bull that shall come and help thee and carry thee—whither? I have forgotten. A Red Bull on a green field, was it not?” “Nay, it will carry me nowhere,” said Kim. “It is but a tale I told thee.” “What is this?” The cultivator’s wife leaned forward, her bracelets clinking on her arm. “Do ye both dream dreams? A Red Bull on a green field, that shall carry thee to the heavens or what? Was it a vision? Did one make a prophecy? _We_ have a Red Bull in our village behind Jullundur city, and he grazes by choice in the very greenest of our fields!” “Give a woman an old wife’s tale and a weaver-bird a leaf and a thread”, they will weave wonderful things,” said the Sikh. “All holy men dream dreams, and by following holy men their disciples attain that power.” “A Red Bull on a green field, was it?” the lama repeated. “In a former life it may be thou hast acquired merit, and the Bull will come to reward thee.” “Nay—nay—it was but a tale one told to me—for a jest belike. But I will seek the Bull about Umballa, and thou canst look for thy River and rest from the clatter of the train.” “It may be that the Bull knows—that he is sent to guide us both.” said the lama, hopefully as a child. Then to the company, indicating Kim: “This one was sent to me but yesterday. He is not, I think, of this world.” “Beggars aplenty have I met, and holy men to boot, but never such a _yogi_ nor such a disciple,” said the woman. Her husband touched his forehead lightly with one finger and smiled. But the next time the lama would eat they took care to give him of their best. And at last—tired, sleepy, and dusty—they reached Umballa City Station. “We abide here upon a law-suit,” said the cultivator’s wife to Kim. “We lodge with my man’s cousin’s younger brother. There is room also in the courtyard for thy _yogi_ and for thee. Will—will he give me a blessing?” “O holy man! A woman with a heart of gold gives us lodging for the night. It is a kindly land, this land of the South. See how we have been helped since the dawn!” The lama bowed his head in benediction. “To fill my cousin’s younger brother’s house with wastrels—” the husband began, as he shouldered his heavy bamboo staff. “Thy cousin’s younger brother owes my father’s cousin something yet on his daughter’s marriage-feast,” said the woman crisply. “Let him put their food to that account. The _yogi_ will beg, I doubt not.” “Ay, I beg for him,” said Kim, anxious only to get the lama under shelter for the night, that he might seek Mahbub Ali’s Englishman and deliver himself of the white stallion’s pedigree. “Now,” said he, when the lama had come to an anchor in the inner courtyard of a decent Hindu house behind the cantonments, “I go away for a while—to—to buy us victual in the bazar. Do not stray abroad till I return.”