We wandered on, not in any haste, as one place was as good as another to us, only it seemed that we must be moving. Sometimes we went into the villages to get a drink of water, and the people gave us parched grain, and to the little sister, sweets, for they seemed to be greatly taken with her. She had our mama’s large eyes, and she was always playful and happy. She had not seen that white giant that frightened and killed our dear mama. Several times I thought of telling her about him, but as I was about to do so she appeared so happy that I had not the heart to do it. She never knew it, for some good angel ever kept me from telling. She was a little beauty, though I say it. Her only dress was a little skirt reaching just below the knees, and very tattered and torn. Her hair was gathered up and tied with a bit of grass. Though so poorly clad, her bright eyes, the dimples on her cheeks, the ripples of her smiles, the real priceless adornments of nature, as she tripped along with us, made her a beauty, at least in my eyes. Her sweet voice calling me bhai, brother, the only name she gave me, or pyari bhai, was like music to my ears. After some days wandering we came to the outskirts of a town or city and we found shelter under a big tree by a wall. Some large beasts came into the tree above us and made a great noise that frightened us very much, so I persuaded the new mama to take us into the city. We came to a building into which a number of people were going, so we went with them. We found a place to rest on a veranda where there was a little straw on which we could sleep. Some one gave us water to drink and others some fruit to eat. About midnight the new mama began to groan as if in terrible pain. She grew worse and worse until I became greatly frightened and ran to some men who brought a lantern. Her moanings and groanings chilled me to the heart. I tried to comfort her but it was no use, the pain increased. Between the attacks her cries were, “What will become of the babas?”