“Now we will go to the school,” said Kim at last. The great old school of St Xavier’s in Partibus, block on block of low white buildings, stands in vast grounds over against the Gumti River, at some distance from the city. “What like of folk are they within?” said Kim. “Young Sahibs—all devils. But to speak truth, and I drive many of them to and fro from the railway station, I have never seen one that had in him the making of a more perfect devil than thou—this young Sahib whom I am now driving.” Naturally, for he was never trained to consider them in any way improper, Kim had passed the time of day with one or two frivolous ladies at upper windows in a certain street, and naturally, in the exchange of compliments, had acquitted himself well. He was about to acknowledge the driver’s last insolence, when his eye—it was growing dusk—caught a figure sitting by one of the white plaster gate-pillars in the long sweep of wall. “Stop!” he cried. “Stay here. I do not go to the school at once.” “But what is to pay me for this coming and re-coming?” said the driver petulantly. “Is the boy mad? Last time it was a dancing-girl. This time it is a priest.” Kim was in the road headlong, patting the dusty feet beneath the dirty yellow robe. “I have waited here a day and a half,” the lama’s level voice began. “Nay, I had a disciple with me. He that was my friend at the Temple of the Tirthankars gave me a guide for this journey. I came from Benares in the _te-rain_, when thy letter was given me. Yes, I am well fed. I need nothing.” “But why didst thou not stay with the Kulu woman, O Holy One? In what way didst thou get to Benares? My heart has been heavy since we parted.” “The woman wearied me by constant flux of talk and requiring charms for children. I separated myself from that company, permitting her to acquire merit by gifts. She is at least a woman of open hands, and I made a promise to return to her house if need arose. Then, perceiving myself alone in this great and terrible world, I bethought me of the _te-rain_ to Benares, where I knew one abode in the Tirthankars’ Temple who was a Seeker, even as I.” “Ah! Thy River,” said Kim. “I had forgotten the River.” “So soon, my _chela?_ I have never forgotten it. But when I had left thee it seemed better that I should go to the Temple and take counsel, for, look you, India is very large, and it may be that wise men before us, some two or three, have left a record of the place of our River. There is debate in the Temple of the Tirthankars on this matter; some saying one thing, and some another. They are courteous folk.” “So be it; but what dost thou do now?”