“In this way,” and the Tahsildar hesitated. “The man came to buy some cloth, and got me to change the note for him, which I did.” “Very good,” said Mr. Percy; “we will see about this later.” The medicines were all examined, and then the list of those to whom donations had been made. Mr. Percy, looking over the list, quietly said, “You gave away all these; that is, I mean, were none sold?” “Allah forbid!” exclaimed the Tahsildar. “How could it be possible when his honor, out of his distinguished generosity, had provided medicine to be given to the poor, that his honor’s slave should be such a dog as to sell any of the medicines?” I looked over the list, but Ram Singh’s name was not there. Mr. Percy went out of the room for a moment, and soon after he returned, in came Ram Singh with his two friends. As junior partner, I did my part in looking on, especially watching the face of the Tahsildar. At the appearance of Ram Singh he surely felt that there was mischief brewing, for he scowled and fairly looked daggers at the man. “Now, Ram Singh,” inquired Mr. Percy, “did you ever get any medicine of the Tahsildar sahib?” “O yes, I got a bottle.” “When?” quickly asked Mr. Percy. “It was on the last day of the Ram nila mela, when the people were coming from the pooja.” “He gave you some?” “No, no. I paid a rupee for it; and here is the empty bottle.” “Ram Singh!” said Mr. Percy, very sternly. “Do you expect me to believe that you went and paid the Tahsildar sahib a rupee for a little bottle of medicine, when you are so poor that you cannot get food enough to eat?” “He is lying,” broke in the Tahsildar, catching at this straw, “they are all liars, these spawn of Shaitan!” “Ram Singh,” continued Mr. Percy, with a grave voice, “I want to know where you got that rupee.” “I sold some haldi to the poojawalas; a few pice worth to one, and a few anas worth to another, until I got the rupee.” “Yes,” said Mr. Percy, “and then you wasted it on a bottle of medicine.” “Wasted! wasted, sahib! wasted, when my only boy, the light of my eyes, the heart of my heart, was ill, and I was afraid he was dying! Had he died, where would I have been? My honor, my house, my all! How could I think of the loss of a rupee, even if it was the last one I should ever see?” “It is well,” said Mr. Percy; “but did you ever get any more medicine?” “Yes,” he replied, “this morning I got another bottle, and here it is,” holding it up. “And this was given to you?” asked Mr. Percy. “No, no! I gave two rupees for this one.” “Ram Singh!” said Mr. Percy, more sternly than before, “I don’t want any falsehoods about this. You said you once paid one rupee when it was all you had, and now you dare to tell me that you have gone and paid two rupees?” “Your honor!” exclaimed the Tahsildar, “he is lying, and I would not listen to him any more; where could he, a beggar get two rupees?”