And straggling on their tracks come the Malays from Pinang and Dindings, from Malaca and Singapore, the small brown men, enduring, brighteyed, straight black-haired, in jackets, trousers and sarongs--the tartan skirt fastened around the waist, and reaching to the knee--and with a raja sprinkled among them with a yellow umbrella over him, a dandy nonchalance printing his sleek cheek with dimples. And India, the nursery of religions, of dreams, of talking and sleeping and famishing men, followed, and for an instant Leacraft thought of Kim’s journey “from Umballa through Kalka and the Pinjore gardens near by up to Simla,” which Kipling told; he thought on “the flush of the morning laid along the distant snows; the branched cacti; tier upon tier the stony hillsides; the voices of a thousand water channels; the chatter of the monkeys, the solemn deodars, climbing one after another, with down-drooped branches; the vista of the plains rolled far out beneath them; the incessant twanging of the tonga horns and the wild rush of the led horses, the halt for prayers, the evening conference by the halting places, when camels and bullocks chewed solemnly together.” He closed his eyes in a revery, and the next opened them upon the very thing. Here were the bullocks, the monkeys, the camels, and here too came the hulking elephants. Dravidians from the southern peninsular, in shawls; the Hill tribes, in coats; the high caste Hindus, in skirts and turbans; Mussulmen from Cashmere, and a few Indian Princes, with their suites, in a coruscation of gem stones, made up a train of spectacles that drew the eager crowds together, almost to the obliteration of the narrow string of exotics that, a little shabbily, shuffled along between them, with however the Princes on horseback or swung in state in palanquins.