Part 5

When tiffen was over, their interesting neighbours rose to depart, with the demure gravity of old men.

*CHAPTER VIII.*

_*THE INVITATION.*_

The night before Mr. Desborough's return to Noak-holly, he called Kathleen to him as he sat dreamily watching the glorious landscape as if he saw it not.

"Can my darling sing to me?" he said, softly humming the first notes of a tune she had heard him sing in the old times, when Kathleen was "her daddy's ae bairn," and the cot stood empty.

He put his arm round her waist, and taught her as he used to do, beating time with his other hand.

"Go bury thy sorrow, the world has its share, Go bury it deeply, go hide it with care."

She turned and looked in his face.

"Go on," he said, in the quiet, decided tone Kathleen always obeyed.

"Go think of it calmly, when curtained by night; Go tell it to Jesus, and all will be right."

She sang it after him, drawing a little closer, for her father was not often like this, until they came to the last verse--

"Hearts growing a-weary with heavier woe, Now droop 'mid the darkness--go, comfort them, go! Go bury thy sorrows, let others be blest: Go give them the sunshine, tell Jesus the rest."

"Is my little girl too young to understand what that means?" he asked, stroking her hair.

"Yes, I do understand, papa," she answered thoughtfully.

"Your mother's sorrow is heavier than ours," he went on, "just because she was Carly's mother; and Racy is pining for his twin-brother, just because he was his twin. It is that which makes him so techy and troublesome. Will my Kathleen try to comfort them when I am gone?"

Instead of the promise he expected there came a rush of tears, so hot and bitter he was taken aback.

"What is the matter, my love?" he asked.

"The dreadful misery to think I let the wolf in!" she sobbed.

"We will bury all that," he answered. "It will not bring sunshine to mamma to see you crying. Think! what ought you to be to poor mamma?"

"Carly and Kathleen, too," she murmured. "But I can't undo it."

His arm went round her very closely; it answered her better than words. No fear of Kathleen talking to poor mamma about the wolves after that night. A new object was before her--how to give others the sunshine.

Her father had scarcely left them when Rattam's messenger arrived with the promised bird, and an invitation to the Sahib Desborough to visit the Rana at his castle. Aglar's mother, the Ranee, added her entreaties that the beebee, who had given her youngest son the little breastplate against the weather (which was endued with such a wonderful charm it had hushed the noise in his breast and given him the vivacity of a panther) would let a grateful mother look upon her face and beg a similar charm for her other son. "The women of your people, sahib," said the letter, which was evidently written by the tutor, "can come and go. It would demean ours to descend the stair of their own home; but they are dying to see more of the wonderful magic the beebee Desborough possesses."

The Rana's peon or foot-soldier, who had brought the letter, stood watching Mrs. Desborough as if she were some superior being. He had shuffled off his shoes as a mark of respect before he approached her, and now stood before her salaaming at every interval when she happened to raise her eyes.

Of course there were a few crows strutting about the veranda, and little fretful Racy was afraid of their sharp beaks. Kathleen was trying to tempt them away by scattering crumbs. They were so tame they soon ran after her to get them.

"More magic," thought the peon, bowing himself to the ground, as she came near to him to look at the wonderful bird Rattam had sent her.

It was jet black, with a coat as glossy as satin, and a lovely dark eye, full of fun and intelligence. Its beak and claws were deep orange. It was looking about very curiously, pricking its ear to every sound. Kathleen drew her finger across the gilded wire of its cage, and it called out in a rich, sweet voice--a wonderfully rich voice, and yet an odd one--"Ram, Ram, baher!" just as he had heard Rattam and Aglar call to one another. The ayah told her it meant "God, God, brother!" which is the Hindu way of speaking, just as English boys would say, "Good-morning, brother!"

With her nurse and her bird talking Indi, Kathleen thought she should soon learn enough to understand Rattam if he came again.

Mrs. Desborough wrote her reply, and promised to visit the Ranee when her husband returned.

Little mischievous Horace was fitting on the peon's slippers, and quite ready to dispute possession with the "man in petticoats," as he called the peon. Kathleen and the ayah pursued him half round the veranda. They would not have got the slippers away then without a roar, if Kathleen's wonderful bird had not begun to make a creaking sound, like a rusty hinge, which it imitated exactly, and then as suddenly changed its note to the cheerful crowing of a cock. This diverted Horace amazingly. The peon recovered his slippers, put up his umbrella, and departed with the English beebee's answer.

But there was many a long day to wait before the visit could be paid. Mrs. Desborough was glad, for she had no heart for visits, although she thought it only right to go, as no one but a lady is scarcely ever permitted to enter the homes of the higher classes of Hindus. In the meanwhile the invigorating air of the hills was restoring the children to health and spirits. Mrs. Desborough hoped Horace would forget some of his provoking sayings, which he had caught up on the journey.

The Thibetan milkmaid had gone away to her own people before Kathleen could persuade her mother to go and talk to her.

But Kathleen would describe the dark-skinned woman, with her dirty rags and glittering beads, so earnestly and so frequently, that her mother began to suspect there was something more she had not told her. "Well?" she would say questioningly; and then Kathleen would stop short, remembering her father's words.

Mrs. Desborough asked the ayah what the Thibetan had said.

"Nothing, nothing," was the quick reply. "We only tried to comfort the little beebee, and stop her tears, that fell like evening rain."

The ayah was frightened, for her mistress turned pale and faint at the most distant allusion to her dreadful loss. So she led the children away, and filled their pinafores with rice to feed the fishes.

Whilst Horace was throwing it by handfuls into the basin of the fountain, which was soon a moving mass of heads and tails, the ayah drew Kathleen away.

"Look at the mem-sahib," she whispered, so that Horace should not hear. "It is the cry for the lost one shut in her heart that hurts. Don't wake it."

Kathleen hung her head; for the first time in her life it seemed wrong to speak out all her thoughts to her mother. But the hope still lived on--Carl would some day be found. It helped her to fulfil her father's parting charge, and try to give the sunshine to Horace and her mother. The dry heat of May gave place at last to the sultry, oppressive damp of the rainy season; and Mrs. Desborough began to long for home.

*CHAPTER IX.*

_*OLIVER AND HIS UNCLE.*_

When Mr. Desborough returned to fetch his wife and children, he found his little fairy half a head taller and twice as strong as at the never-to-be-forgotten singing-lesson the night before he left.

"Well! and what have you been doing?" he asked, when he found himself seated once more, with a child on each knee. "Setting traps to catch the sunbeams to give away, eh, my precious?" he continued.

"But I think Racy got them all," Kathleen answered.

"_Via_ Racy is one of the best of roads to reach mamma," smiled her father, as he stroked her hair fondly, and turned to his boy, who was clamorously demanding all his attention.

A game at horses round the white-washed sitting-room assured Mr. Desborough that Kathleen's traps had not been set in vain. Horace was riding triumphant on his father's shoulder, shouting at him after the fashion of the native drivers, in high glee, when the card of an English gentleman was brought in by Bene Madho.

Who should it be but the deputy-judge, who was going on circuit, and had just arrived to hold a "bed of justice," as the natives say, in the neighbourhood of Nataban.

"Well set to work, Desborough!" he exclaimed. "Have I followed my bit of pasteboard too quickly?"

"No, no," retorted Mr. Desborough warmly. "We are going away to-morrow. There are rooms enough here to accommodate all for a night."

"My fellows can sleep anywhere," continued the deputy, chucking Kathleen under her chin, and pointing to his train of servants, who were chattering without. "I and my nephew will do our best not to interfere with the ladies' comfort. Only say the word, and we will make quick work here, and hurry forward to our next station."

"Oliver!"

Mr. Desborough scrambled to his feet, and with Horace still tugging at his watch-chain, held out his hand to the boy without recognizing him; but Kathleen knew him again in a moment.

"Mr. Desborough has forgotten you, my boy," whispered the deputy. "Do not refresh his memory; it will only revive a painful recollection."

Oliver nodded; and they all went in together to congratulate Mrs. Desborough on the improvement in her children.

When old neighbours meet there is no lack of conversation. The gentlemen sat long over the dinner, discussing the recent rains, the present attitude of Russia, and the success of the government schools for Hindu boys, in which the deputy was greatly interested. Kathleen sat beside her father, forgetting to eat. At the first movement she glided round to her mother's chair with a breathless request.

"May I show my bird to Oliver? and may we go for a walk--a long walk?" she asked.

"Certainly, my love, if he wishes," answered Mrs. Desborough.

Kathleen tripped on. A gentle pull at Oliver's sleeve made him look round. He was too good-natured to decline the shy invitation.

Life was very free and easy at the little hill-station. The whitewashed bungalow was neither inn nor lodging-house, but something between. When one party went away, there was usually another waiting to take their place, so that the servants who were stationary there were not disconcerted by the deputy's arrival. They were laughing and singing as they hurried about, contriving to make an unusual hubbub, as a sort of tribute to the dignity of the Stunt Sahib, as they called the deputy.

Some of the newly-arrived were seated in groups, cross-legged, on the grass, smoking a friendly pipe with their old acquaintances of a previous year. Oliver would willingly have lingered to watch them, so he divided his attentions between them and Kathleen's wonderful bird.

It was crying so like a child as they drew near its cage, Oliver was looking about for some squalling baby among the dusky smokers. Then it changed its note, and imitated the soft musical tinkle of the temple bell, where Rattam and Aglar went to see the sacrifices to their idol-gods. Oliver was enchanted. "It beats the parrots hollow!" he exclaimed. "It is something like a bird."

"I have not much left to give away," said Kathleen, thinking a little regretfully of all the toys she had bestowed upon the young princes; "but I'll give you my beauty mina, if you will take me for a walk, a very long walk."

"You!" he repeated in astonishment. "Which way do you want to go?"

She tripped down the veranda steps, and pointing to the wilder part of the ground, ran eagerly forward, looking back every now and then to see if Oliver would follow.

The ground around the house was partially gardened, but the further they went the wilder it grew. All path was lost. Arrowroot and ginger plants sprang up spontaneously. By one of their tall green sheaths, with its droop of snow-white bells like a magnified Solomon's seal, Kathleen paused panting until her companion overtook her.

Off she started again.

"Is it a jolly game at hare-and-hounds or follow-my-leader that you are starting?" asked Oliver. "You are not quite right for either. We boys never played just so. In the first place, you should start fair."

"It is not play at all," answered Kathleen, slipping her hand into his and looking up beseechingly. "You do not mind, do you?"

"Not a bit," he retorted, holding back a mimosa bush to let her pass. She had led him on to a dangerous spot, where the ground sloped steeply down to the bottom of a ravine.

Dark shadows of bushes and plants unknown to him obscured its depths. A sound of gurgling water met his ear, but the gloom was so profound he could distinguish nothing.

"Is not that a place where the wild beasts sleep? Now will you take me as far down as you can?" asked Kathleen.

"No," answered Oliver bluntly--"no, indeed; you must be crazy!"

She drew her hand away, and leaning over the edge of the precipice, called, "Carl, Carl, are you there?"

Oliver caught hold of her dress and pulled her back. "You absurd little creature, you'll slip and fall if you do so!"

"Oh, never mind that. If I could make him hear me--if I could but make him hear!" she wailed. "But I am not to talk about the wolves--I'm not to talk."

"Yes, you may to me; you may say anything you like to me," interposed Oliver, resolutely turning her round and walking back towards the house.

"Do you speak the truth?" asked Kathleen.

"I tell you what, young lady: I don't admire your ways one bit. If you had only been a boy, I'd have bowled you over for that in less than a minute. What do you mean by asking me such a question?" he retorted in hot indignation.

"Then I may believe what you tell me, and you said he was alive in the jungle!" she exclaimed.

Oliver gave a long-drawn "Oh!" adding slowly, in a considerate tone, "Yes, I did. I said so because I thought so."

"And the milkmaid thought so!" she cried. Then for the fiftieth time she pictured the dusky face, with its rags and beads, and repeated the soft Indian words until the white walls of the bungalow were once again in sight.

"Now we must not talk any more," she exclaimed, "for fear mamma should hear us. There she is!"

Oliver looked up, and saw Mrs. Desborough seated on one of the fallen trees, talking to his uncle. The ayah was taking Horace for his evening walk. Being new to Indian life, Oliver stared in astonishment at the strange way in which she carried the child. Instead of taking him in her arms, as an English nurse would do, she had a nice little soft saddle strapped round her waist, on which he was riding. Her arm was round him, to keep him from falling, whilst his own clasped her neck, and his little feet were kicking her back and front. For Horace was as restless and fidgety as a young elephant, which every mahout (elephant-driver) knows never is at peace a single moment. It is always shaking its flapping ears, or switching its tail, twisting and untwisting its trunk, or stamping with one or other of its big feet. But the ayah was patience itself in her untiring devotion to her white baby.

"Look at that nephew of mine," laughed the deputy. "I shall have to start him off again to England, for a couple of years at the East India College, before I put him into harness. But Iffley has taken to him wonderfully. Now his sister--"

But Bona's perfections were cut short by a squall from Horace. The Rana's peon was approaching with renewed invitations to the whole party.

"We must go," said the deputy, who was bent upon cultivating friendly intercourse between himself and his dusky neighbours.

He had won their respect by his uprightness--perhaps even their esteem; "but to get a step beyond that beats me," he declared. "You must know as well as I do, Desborough, how these Orientals hedge in their private life with their ceremonies and formalities, and keep us all at a distance. Here I have been coaxing them out of their shyness and reserve for years. What way have I made? One-half the pains I've taken would have brought these monkeys from the woods around me as tame and affectionate as the kitten in your veranda at home. Now you ladies have a chance. The door of the zenana opens to you. That is why I want my niece. I want her to take her share in the Englishwoman's mission to her dusky sisters. You will go with us, Mrs. Desborough?"

"Yes," she replied. "I had intended to do so; but," she added, turning to Mr. Desborough, "we must take the children with us." The fact was, she dare not leave them behind.

"No objection to that, as far as I can see," returned the deputy; and so it was settled.

As Oliver was falling asleep that night, he seemed to hear nothing but the little sister's passionate cry, "Carl, Carl, come back!" How she had clung to the lingering hope his words had implanted! He almost wished he had never said them. Did he and Bona love each other like that? He saw nothing but the fluttering of Kathleen's sash and the flapping of her broad sun-hat as she rushed before him to the very edge of the precipice. How she must have longed to get there! and it was such a dangerous place. Oh the innocence of the thought! The brave, faithful heart! Yes, that was it. Oliver hated himself for having spoken those misleading words. "But then I believed it after what old Gobur had said."

He tossed and slept, and dreamed of Romulus and Remus, and the old Roman fable of the she-wolf. When he waked at last, the day was well begun, and everybody around him was busy preparing for the visit to the Rana's castle. He wished his schoolbooks had not all been left behind him in another hemisphere. There was no Roman history to be found in the hill bungalow, or he would have refreshed his memory about that old-world tale of the founders of Rome. His uncle thought him unusually moody as he mounted his little pony and rode after him. It was a glorious morning. Mrs. Desborough's bearers were chanting gaily. Mr. Desborough, who rode behind her, turned his head to make some remark upon the indigo crops to the deputy, who was still descanting about "that fog-bank which always rises between us and the people of the land, do what we will."

Oliver yawned, feeling quite sure beforehand he should detest a fat boy who ate nothing but butter and sugar, and wouldn't and couldn't run a race if it were to save his life, whatever his colour might be. He was thinking of Major Iffley's impatient interruptions, when his uncle started his favourite topic before him.

"Let the natives alone, St. Faine. They are the most exclusive set on earth. It is all labour in vain, I tell you."

The road by which they reached the Rana's castle was very picturesque, shaded here and there by grand old forest trees and great clumps of waving bamboos. The village houses were very low, and their peaked thatched roofs covered with a climbing plant with melon-like leaves. Clusters of tamarind trees secured the necessary shade. Two men were ploughing in a field, and three more were idly watching their work. Several women were scouring their brass pans; at their feet lay their babies, cooing or fretting. Some graceful girls were drawing water at the village well. There was a native musician with his sitar, and a group of listeners round him, some smoking, and others playing a native game with little bits of wood.

They lifted up their eyes and saw the English party approaching. The women snatched up their infants and ducked under the mats, which serve for doors to their huts, as if to be seen were to be killed. The girls by the trickling water under the tamarind trees muffled up their faces and waddled away as fast as they could. To walk like a goose is a Hindu girl's desire. The very children, intent upon the manufacture of dust-pies, jumped up and hid themselves; whilst the men started, gave a pull at their clothes, pushed the sitar out of sight, threw away their pipes, and stood in a row, bowing like so many machines, humble, shy, and mute.

The deputy's benevolent face wore nothing but smiles; but the poor creatures had received little but cruelty from the hands of foreigners for so many generations, they could hardly believe in a stranger's kindness. The headman of the village had bustled off to put on his company clothes, which he kept very carefully for state occasions.

He looked as if he had wrapped himself in a clean sheet; all his dignity lay in his belt, which had served his grandfather before him. However, he had found his tongue, as the children say, and came to meet the deputy with a string of compliments as extravagant as they were meaningless. Just then the long-drawn, quavering notes of some huge horns, drawing nearer and nearer, announced the approach of the Rana, who was coming to meet his visitors. Presently they saw him sweeping down the castle hill in his bullock-chariot, all brightness and gilding. Four of his men were holding over his head a huge scarlet umbrella with long glittering fringes; several more were running by his side. A small band of horsemen preceded this stately chariot, sounding their big brass trumpets from time to time; and behind it came a motley procession of his chief followers and relations. In the midst of them Oliver detected that fat boy he was so certain he must dislike.

*CHAPTER X.*

_*A VISIT TO THE RANA'S CASTLE.*_

The deputy being the chief of the English party, was pressed to take a seat in the chariot by the Rana's side. Then the runners and the riders turned their faces, and the long procession wound its way up the castle hill. All the dogs in the village collected to bark at the heels of the departing horsemen, and bright little eyes peeped round the corners to see them go. Then the girls returned to their pitchers, and the men to their music and play.

The strong and time-worn castle was all of stone, with rich, deep balconies and oriel windows. The carving of the stone screens which protected them was as delicate as point lace. Behind those splendid screens the ladies of the family were peeping as furtively and shyly as the village children, and quite as anxious to see without being seen. All Kathleen's attention was taken up by the dear little gray monkeys, who were playing at hide-and-seek with each other through the beautiful tracery. Some noise within sent them off with a scamper. Their leader called them round him; and Kathleen soon saw them busy as ever in the court below, turning over stones, and hunting out beetles and scorpions, which they caught by the tail. The biggest of them was about the size of a bull-terrier; and their babies were the dearest little sweets in the world.

It was slow work defiling one by one across the bridge which spanned the stream in front of the castle. Mrs. Desborough and the children had entered the large, untidy court some minutes before Mr. Desborough and Oliver arrived; so they waited, looking round them at the novel scene. In the centre of the court there was a large group of horses picketed, who seemed very much annoyed by the descent of the small gray plagues from the balcony, who showed no respect for stamping hoofs or kicking heels. All round the court there were rows of straw-thatched huts and sheds, where the servants lived, next door to the animals in their charge. There were lynxes, kept for hunting hares; and splendid spotted leopards, tamed, and tied to strong posts, each with a leather hood over its eyes, to keep it from springing unawares. More than a hundred dogs of different kinds were kennelled in their midst. The yelling and the barking which arose on all sides so terrified Mrs. Desborough, that she positively refused to get out of her dandy or suffer Horace to be taken from her arms, although he roared in concert with all his might; so her bearers rested in front of the flight of white steps leading to the porch of the castle.