"And all the beggars as well," answered Harajar, as they shouldered their way through a crowd of "_fakirs_" holding out their begging-bowls. "Nay, speak kindly of all in the 'Holy City.' It may be that our child will be cured," said the gentle mother, as she wrapped her veil around the baby to keep off the hot sun. The children stopped to stare at the hundreds of big temples of strange shapes which stretched up and down the river back as far as they could see. In front of these temples were terraces and long flights of steps, called "_ghats_" leading down to the river's edge. "We will go first to the temple to make an offering," said Chola's father, as they walked past temple after temple full of queer, ugly images. [Illustration: "THESE THE CHILDREN TWISTED INTO WREATHS AND THREW INTO THE RIVER."] At last, after many inquiries, they found the temple that they were looking for, and put dishes of coloured rice and flowers before a great bronze image with four arms and two big diamonds for eyes, sitting cross-legged just as they did themselves. After this they went down the long steps in front of the temple to the river's bank, and the baby was bathed in the water with much ceremony. The children all splashed around and thought it rather good fun. The water was cool and agreeable, and they amused themselves trying to catch the long lines of flower wreaths which went floating by. These wreaths of flowers are thrown into the waters of the Ganges by the pilgrims as an offering to the waters of the "Sacred River." Little Shriya had brought her dolls. One by one she sadly dropped them, the brightly painted little dolls, made of clay and dressed just like herself, into the river. At last she held in her arms only the two she had made herself in the garden at home. They had lost most of their arms and legs on the journey, and were sorry-looking little dolls; but Shriya was very fond of them, and she wondered if the "Sacred River" would really miss them if she kept them. With a sigh she decided this would be very wrong, and so she put them, too, tenderly in the water among the floating flowers. She then sat down on the steps and drew her veil over her face and sighed softly, for it would be three whole months before she could have any more dolls. "Here are our flowers," said Chola, running down the steps with his arms full of yellow marigolds and sweet jasmine, which he had bought from the flower-seller who sat under one of the big umbrellas. These the children twisted into wreaths and threw into the river. "And here is one for the man who gave us the sugar-cane," he said, tossing a large wreath on the water.