As that day was some joogly poogly of a holiday, Mr. Percy had more leisure than usual and various were our talks and amusements, as if he was living over one of his boyhood days. Suddenly changing our conversation he said, “Your letters each week were so different from each other, so much so that I could not help noticing it, why was it?” Then I told him, that by a rule we were allowed to write only one letter a week, on Saturday, and these were delivered to the principal who read them before they were sent; that when writing these regulation letters I was not free to write just what I thought but all the time I was writing I could think only of what the principal might say or criticise. “I see, I see,” said he. Then I told him of my little trick about the other letters, of my writing them out by the rock and of my compact with the bearer to post them. With a pleased smile, as if he remembered he had once been a boy himself, he replied: “Charles I am afraid you are somewhat of a rogue after all.” I could not help judging from his manner that if he thought I was a rogue I was a very good kind of one, for he often spoke of his delight in those stolen letters. The morning came and with it, Ram Singh, his two friends, the bottle of medicine and the eight rupees. So far so good. He was told to keep the empty bottle and the filled bottle he had just bought, by him, and that he should go out and the bearer would give food for himself and his friends, but to say not a word about the business to any one. A sowar or mounted messenger was sent in haste to order the Tahsildar to bring all the money he had collected for some village purposes, all the medicine in hand, as Mr. Percy wished to examine them, and the full list of all those to whom he had given medicine. A few hours afterward, came dressed for the occasion, the Tahsildar, with the haughty air of one honored by being sent for to meet the Barra Sahib. He was shown into the library. After the usual fulsome greetings, the Tahsildar, radiant with pleasure, the village accounts were examined and the money handed over. I was standing by and at once saw our old friend the ten-rupee note. To restrain my expression of surprise, I put my hand on my mouth as if I had suddenly bit my tongue and went to another part of the room. I felt certain that I was not fit to be a judge as I could not keep a straight face. I quickly returned, Mr. Percy counting the money took up our note, saying to the Tahsildar “This is a strange looking note, can it be a good one?” “Without doubt,” said the Tahsildar, “it must be a good one.” “We will have to trace it,” replied Mr. Percy, while turning it over and holding it up towards the light. “Where did you get it?” he inquired, and the Tahsildar quickly answered, “I am sure I got it of one Ram Singh of the village of Futtypur.” “How did you come to get it?”