Moreover, he is as we are, bound upon the Wheel of Things but he does not tread the way of deliverance.” He halted at a little runlet among the fields, and considered the hoof-trodden bank. “Low caste I did not say, for how can that be which is not? Afterwards he amended his discourtesy, and I forgot the offense. “But thou hast said he was low caste and discourteous.” “There is no pride,” said the lama, after a pause, “there is no pride among such as follow the Middle Way.” He cocked his nose in the air loftily and stepped across the narrow field-borders with great dignity. “Is he not wise and holy? I am his disciple.” “I have met holy ones who would have cursed thee from hearthstone to byre,” said Kim to the abashed man. Beware not to judge men too hastily, O farmer.” That clearing from his eyes, he becomes courteous and of an affable heart. “He was led to speak harshly by the red mist of anger. “I-I would not draw evil upon myself-or my crops but beggars are so many in these hard days.” “Milk and a meal,” the man stammered, as he looked at the strange tall figure.

“Nay, we will go to the river,” said the lama, striding out. But if ye need water I can give that-and milk.” “What city do ye hail from not to know a canal-cut? It runs as straight as an arrow, and I pay for the water as though it were molten silver. “All we sought was to look at that river beyond the field there.” “And by what sign didst thou know that we would beg from thee, O Mali?” said Kim tartly, using the name that a market-gardener least likes. “The land is full of beggars,” he began, half apologetically. The man shuffled uneasily in his slippers. “If the next crop fails, thou canst only blame thy own tongue.” “We go,” the lama returned, with quiet dignity. “Ho, shameless beggars!” shouted the farmer. Be warned by his demeanour, my disciple.” “Such an one,” said the lama, disregarding the dogs, “is impolite to strangers, intemperate of speech and uncharitable. He was a market-gardener, Arain by caste, growing vegetables and flowers for Umballa city, and well Kim knew the breed. Yea, voice of every Soul that clung To Life that strove from rung to rung When Devadatta’s rule was young, The warm wind brings Kamakura.īehind them an angry farmer brandished a bamboo pole.

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