Here the old soldier bobbled up and asked if Kim would accept his hospitality for the night. The priest recommended him to do so, but insisted that the honour of entertaining the lama belonged to the temple—at which the lama smiled guilelessly. Kim glanced from one face to the other, and drew his own conclusions. “Where is the money?” he whispered, beckoning the old man off into the darkness. “In my bosom. Where else?” “Give it me. Quietly and swiftly give it me.” “But why? Here is no ticket to buy.” “Am I thy _chela_, or am I not? Do I not safeguard thy old feet about the ways? Give me the money and at dawn I will return it.” He slipped his hand above the lama’s girdle and brought away the purse. “Be it so—be it so.” The old man nodded his head. “This is a great and terrible world. I never knew there were so many men alive in it.” Next morning the priest was in a very bad temper, but the lama was quite happy; and Kim had enjoyed a most interesting evening with the old man, who brought out his cavalry sabre and, balancing it on his dry knees, told tales of the Mutiny and young captains thirty years in their graves, till Kim dropped off to sleep. “Certainly the air of this country is good,” said the lama. “I sleep lightly, as do all old men; but last night I slept unwaking till broad day. Even now I am heavy.” “Drink a draught of hot milk,” said Kim, who had carried not a few such remedies to opium-smokers of his acquaintance. “It is time to take the Road again.” “The long Road that overpasses all the rivers of Hind,” said the lama gaily. “Let us go. But how thinkest thou, _chela_, to recompense these people, and especially the priest, for their great kindness? Truly they are _būt-parast_, but in other lives, maybe, they will receive enlightenment. A rupee to the temple? The thing within is no more than stone and red paint, but the heart of man we must acknowledge when and where it is good.” “Holy One, hast thou ever taken the Road alone?” Kim looked up sharply, like the Indian crows so busy about the fields. “Surely, child: from Kulu to Pathânkot—from Kulu, where my first _chela_ died. When men were kind to us we made offerings, and all men were well-disposed throughout all the Hills.” “It is otherwise in Hind,” said Kim drily. “Their Gods are many-armed and malignant. Let them alone.” “I would set thee on thy road for a little, Friend of all the World, thou and thy yellow man.” The old soldier ambled up the village street, all shadowy in the dawn, on a punt, scissor-hocked pony. “Last night broke up the fountains of remembrance in my so-dried heart, and it was as a blessing to me. Truly there is war abroad in the air. I smell it. See! I have brought my sword.” He sat long-legged on the little beast, with the big sword at his side—hand dropped on the pommel—staring fiercely over the flat lands towards the North. “Tell me again how He showed in thy vision. Come up and sit behind me. The beast will carry two.”