“He is a Seeker.” the priest answered. “The land is full of such. Remember him who came only last, month—the _faquir_ with the tortoise?” “Ay, but that man had right and reason, for Krishna Himself appeared in a vision promising him Paradise without the burning-pyre if he journeyed to Prayag. This man seeks no God who is within my knowledge.” “Peace, he is old: he comes from far off, and he is mad,” the smooth-shaven priest replied. “Hear me.” He turned to the lama. “Three _kos_ (six miles) to the westward runs the great road to Calcutta.” “But I would go to Benares—to Benares.” “And to Benares also. It crosses all streams on this side of Hind. Now my word to thee, Holy One, is rest here till tomorrow. Then take the road” (it was the Grand Trunk Road he meant) “and test each stream that it overpasses; for, as I understand, the virtue of thy River lies neither in one pool nor place, but throughout its length. Then, if thy Gods will, be assured that thou wilt come upon thy freedom.” “That is well said.” The lama was much impressed by the plan. “We will begin tomorrow, and a blessing on thee for showing old feet such a near road.” A deep, sing-song Chinese half-chant closed the sentence. Even the priest was impressed, and the headman feared an evil spell: but none could look at the lama’s simple, eager face and doubt him long. “Seest thou my _chela?_” he said, diving into his snuff-gourd with an important sniff. It was his duty to repay courtesy with courtesy. “I see—and hear.” The headman rolled his eye where Kim was chatting to a girl in blue as she laid crackling thorns on a fire. “He also has a Search of his own. No river, but a Bull. Yea, a Red Bull on a green field will some day raise him to honour. He is, I think, not altogether of this world. He was sent of a sudden to aid me in this search, and his name is Friend of all the World.” The priest smiled. “Ho, there, Friend of all the World,” he cried across the sharp-smelling smoke, “what art thou?” “This Holy One’s disciple,” said Kim. “He says thou are a _būt_ (a spirit).” “Can _būts_ eat?” said Kim, with a twinkle. “For I am hungry.” “It is no jest,” cried the lama. “A certain astrologer of that city whose name I have forgotten—” “That is no more than the city of Umballa where we slept last night,” Kim whispered to the priest. “Ay, Umballa was it? He cast a horoscope and declared that my _chela_ should find his desire within two days. But what said he of the meaning of the stars, Friend of all the World?” Kim cleared his throat and looked around at the village greybeards. “The meaning of my Star is War,” he replied pompously. Somebody laughed at the little tattered figure strutting on the brickwork plinth under the great tree. Where a native would have lain down, Kim’s white blood set him upon his feet. “Ay, War,” he answered. “That is a sure prophecy,” rumbled a deep voice. “For there is always war along the Border—as I know.”