One morning the magistrate came. As soon as he saw me he exclaimed, “Why, my boy! How you have grown?” I was satisfied. I felt that I had accomplished my purpose. He turned towards our sahib, and said he would take me at once. I was allowed to take a few books. As the magistrate said I did not need clothes, I took only those I wore. The trinkets I had intended for my little sister, were carefully tied up in a little package, so precious to me, they were not left. I was ready at once, and salaaming to the lean sahib we went out of the gate, the boys giving a vigorous cheer as a token of their good wishes which I gladly received with a wave of my hand, we were soon out of sight, and I never saw that school again. Not long after, the tall sahib died, and I have no doubt that he got into that heaven toward which he had been stretching himself so long. My “sahib without a beard” went to Wilayat, and the boys, I suppose, soon scattered. Could I forget the school? Have I not been reminded of it every day of my life by the two names I received there, “That Eurasian” and “Japhet,” perpetual mementoes of that chapter in my life? The carriage, with the fine spirited horses, soon reached the magistrate’s bungalow, and as we drove up under the portico, a crowd of servants, durwans, chuprassies, bearers, khansamas, khitmutgars, all came salaaming as if we were foreign princes. I say we, since they turned toward me as some special favorite who had come sitting on the seat beside the sahib. There was a broad veranda fringed with pots of plants and flowers; this I took in at a glance. On a large carpet two darzies were working, as if for dear life, though many a time afterward, I saw them nodding when their master was not by. The first word of the sahib was, “Darzi, kya, kuch kapra is larke ke waste bana sakte?” It was clothes for me, clothes, a subject on which the great Scotch mental tailor has laid so much stress. I had been so absorbed in the novelty of what was transpiring, that I was unconscious of the poverty of my appearance. Was not the great Newton once so absorbed in an experiment that he put his watch in the kettle and boiled it, while he held the egg in his hand to note the time? I always like to have some great example to refer to when I find some lapse or mistake in myself. It is so consoling, you know.