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make all things ready. After them follows the Bull; but the sign
over against him is the sign of War and armed men.'

'There was indeed a man of the Ludhiana Sikhs in the carriage
from Lahore,' said the cultivator's wife hopefully.

'Tck! Armed men - many hundreds. What concern hast thou with
war?' said the priest to Kim. 'Thine is a red and an angry sign
of War to be loosed very soon.'

'None - none.' said the lama earnestly. 'We seek only peace and
our River.'

Kim smiled, remembering what he had overheard in the dressing-
room. Decidedly he was a favourite of the stars.

The priest brushed his foot over the rude horoscope. 'More than
this I cannot see. In three days comes the Bull to thee, boy.'

'And my River, my River,' pleaded the lama. 'I had hoped his Bull
would lead us both to the River.'

'Alas, for that wondrous River, my brother,' the priest replied.
'Such things are not common.'

Next morning, though they were pressed to stay, the lama insisted
on departure. They gave Kim a large bundle of good food and
nearly three annas in copper money for the needs of the road, and
with many blessings watched the two go southward in the dawn.

'Pity it is that these and such as these could not be freed from -'

'Nay, then would only evil people be left on the earth, and who
would give us meat and shelter?' quoth Kim, stepping merrily
under his burden.

'Yonder is a small stream. Let us look,' said the lama, and he
led from the white road across the fields; walking into a very
hornets' nest of pariah dogs.





Chapter 3


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.

Buddha at Kamakura.


Behind them an angry farmer brandished a bamboo pole. He was a
market-gardener, Arain by caste, growing vegetables and flowers
for Umballa city, and well Kim knew the breed.

'Such an one,' said the lama, disregarding the dogs, 'is impolite
to strangers, intemperate of speech and uncharitable. Be warned
by his demeanour, my disciple.'

'Ho, shameless beggars!' shouted the farmer. 'Begone! Get hence!'

'We go,' the lama returned, with quiet dignity. 'We go from these
unblessed fields.'

'Ah,' said Kim, sucking in his breath. 'If the next crops fail,
thou canst only blame thine own tongue.'

The man shuffled uneasily in his slippers. 'The land is full of
beggars,' he began, half apologetically.

'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. 'All we sought was to look at that river beyond the
field there.'

'River, forsooth!' the man snorted. '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. There is a
branch of a river beyond. But if ye need water I can give that -
and milk.'

'Nay, we will go to the river,' said the lama, striding out.

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