Part 6

A group of servants had gathered round them--looking very haughty in their clean white dresses and turbans--who were announcing the arrival of the guests with eager cries.

When Mr. Desborough's puggaree appeared beneath the gateway arch, one of the peons stepped forward with his mace in his hand to meet him; and behind the peon, on the topmost step, stood the guest-receivers of the Rana--two fat little old men, dressed all in white--bowing low, and inviting him to enter.

But no; Mr. Desborough must first of all reassure his terrified wife and pacify his screaming boy. Oliver thought it only manly to follow his example, and stepped up to the other dandy, expecting to find Kathleen in a similar state. The ayah was leaning forward, with her finger on her lips to enjoin silence, and Kathleen was gazing breathlessly in her face.

"Hush!" she whispered, pointing to one of the Rana's men, who stood staring at Horace, as Mr. Desborough lifted him up, with a scared, startled look, as if he had seen some marvellous prodigy.

What was the fellow saying? The ayah knew, and Kathleen more than guessed. She had been learning Indi from her ayah ever since Rattam's visit. She understood it better than Oliver; a great deal better than her mother. She was trying to get out of the dandy in her impatience.

"Let me go! let me go!" she entreated. "I must go to papa."

Mr. Desborough was looking round to see if she were all right. He relinquished Horace to the ayah, and gave his arm to his wife.

"I'll take care of Kathleen," said Oliver, with the air of a grandfather. But she tried to escape from him.

"I must tell papa," she persisted.

"Nonsense!" he urged; "you can't."

He led her up the steps resolutely.

"Which are the Ranee's apartments?" asked Mr. Desborough of the servants.

"They are in that direction looking east; but we cannot point them out," was the deferential reply, with a horrified look, as if to be guilty of such rudeness as pointing out the window of a lady's room would indeed have been unparalleled.

But then they all entertained a private opinion that these English sahibs were utterly incomprehensible, and on some points downright lunatics.

Kathleen turned round, and pointing to the jogie, who still stood staring after them, she whispered to Oliver, "That is the man. He was looking at Horace, and he said, 'I saw that child last night come down the koond on a booraba'--that is a wolf, you know."

"Is it?" said Oliver, who did not happen to know that booraba was Indi for "wolf." "Well," he continued, "it is certain he did not see your brother there."

"No, not Horace," she cried, clasping her hands passionately; "but could it--could it be Carl?"

She was forced to be silent now. They were entering the Rana's hall of audience, a huge room, thirty feet high, with a gallery at one end, and at the other a much smaller, narrower room, with carved marble arches and glittering walls.

Here they saw the Rana himself, seated upon a large, low sofa, with the deputy by his side; and Aglar, as still and motionless as a lizard, was sitting cross-legged at his feet. A few stout old gentlemen, swathed in costly shawls, looked as if they were propped up against the wall, on English chairs. They had come to see the sahibs, and the Rana thought it only complimentary to provide English seats when English visitors were expected; but his uncles and brothers seemed to find them singularly uncomfortable. They balanced themselves on the edge of the chairs, and threw their heads back with great solemnity. But what to do with their arms seemed the difficulty. One old gentleman stuck his against his sides, and spread out all his fingers; another was vainly trying to rest his hands on his knees without leaning forward.

Horace began to point at them and laugh, and Oliver was nearly as bad, in spite of his uncle's frown.

Beneath the marble arches there were long flights of steps leading down to the gardens, which were overlooked by the back of the zenana, or ladies' rooms. The carefully-screened balconies looked like one splendid mass of stone lace. In the centre of the gardens there was an artificial lake, fed by the mountain stream, where golden fish were leaping in the sunlight, and stately swans were gliding. Around its banks, and almost built out into the water, at equal distances, there were white marble kiosks, or arbours; and high above the stately trees and luxurious wealth of flowers the jagged red cliffs were frowning. Mrs. Desborough was lost in admiration as she was pompously conducted down the snowy steps, across the velvet grass, to a low door leading to the Ranee's apartments, the ayah following with Horace, riding on his little saddle, and Kathleen shyly tripping by her side.

The low door was unfastened, and they entered a dark passage, with an earthen floor, leading to a long staircase, which was very dirty. The contrast to the hall of audience was so great, Mrs. Desborough thought there was some mistake, when out they stepped upon the cool and shadowy balcony. Little dark heads, with snowy whiskers, came poking through the interstices of the stone-work, to watch the English children, and absurd-looking monkey mothers tossed up their babies and jabbered unceasingly. The folding-doors of the Ranee's sitting-room stood wide open. Its Eastern loveliness was spoiled by some smart-looking English tables and looking-glasses, of which the Ranee was very proud. She was seated upon a velvet cushion, with her little girls by her side, and her servants standing round her. The Hindu lady looked so stately and calm and stern, as she surveyed her visitors with a fixed, cold stare, Kathleen was almost afraid of her. Her long black hair was twisted into a sort of coronet, fastened by a silver buckle, and set with large silver bosses. Her fixed and haughty eyes were dark with excessive brightness. Her proud, curving lips and set white teeth seemed as if they could scarcely permit the word of welcome to pass between them. A little girl, as beautiful as her mother, was leaning against her, and on the other side an elder sister sat with her arm round her mother's waist, embowered in shawls and her own long, dark, waving curls. They were still more fascinating children than their brothers. All the force and fire of the family seemed to have centred in its females. But the youngest girl hid her face in her mother's lap, and the other only ventured on a sidelong glance at the strangers--evidently terrified at Horace, who was manfully kicking at his ayah's waist. The sight of a splendid doll Mrs. Desborough was unpacking drew the shy little Orientals from their mother's side. The ayah was interpreter. Whilst the ladies were admiring each other's children, Kathleen took the doll on her lap, and showed the little sisters how to dress and undress it. Then they sent for their own dolls, and displayed the mystery of their tinselled robes and gossamer veils. Here at least was common ground. And perhaps those little Hindus loved their dolls even more than Kathleen did, for they had scarcely any other pleasure in their dull life; for while their brothers were made so much of by every one, nobody wanted them.

The gentlemen remained in the hall of audience, where the cup-filler and the hookah-filler were in attendance. Oliver had the best of it; for although he could do nothing but laugh at Rattam, in his saffron-coloured satin dress, and flowered silk trousers, and his turban hung round with tigers' teeth set in gold, not to mention his bracelets and chains, he found him a cleverer boy than himself. They went together into the Rana's armoury; and whilst Rattam was showing him swords of fabulous value, from the jewels in their hilts, and helmets of the strangest shapes imaginable, Oliver decided he was not half a duffer after all.

They were entering the room where the Rana kept his clocks; for he had a perfect passion for clocks, and had accumulated some dozens--French, Dutch, English, and American, all ticking. Oliver thought this a bit of a bore. "Couldn't we have a stroll out of doors?" he asked. Rattam agreed.

Oliver gave a tug at his own hair. It was a habit of his when he felt uncertain what to do. But the momentary hesitation passed over. He turned to Rattam and said, "Do you know that Mr. Desborough lost a child a month or two ago? it was carried off by a wolf."

"Ah!" interrupted Rattam.

"One of your fellows was saying something about a child in the jungle as we rode into your court. I want to ask him what it was," continued Oliver. "I'll tell you all about the loss of the poor little thing as we go along."

"Leave that to me," replied Rattam, waving his hand with the air of a prince. "You would scarcely understand the jogie's tale if you heard it. Our people are very imaginative. It may be nothing but moonshine and shadow. Leave it to me. Before you quit the castle, all he has to tell shall be known."

The boys had broken the ice of ceremony in which their elders were freezing, and agreeing that it would be cruelty to raise false hopes by speaking a word too soon to either Mr. or Mrs. Desborough, they parted. Oliver returned to the hall, to sit in irksome silence, while Rattam speedily vanished. The old gentlemen by the wall looked as if they were longing to slip off their chairs on to the floor, and take a rest after their own fashion. The appearance of the attendants with trays of sweetmeats was a welcome diversion.

The five shawl bundles munched contentedly, mumbling a word or two now and then, when another servant appeared carrying a vase of most overpowering scent. He made a dart at Mr. Desborough's handkerchief and deluged it. Oliver's not being quite so handy, he received a dab on the sleeve of his jacket, where it remained to torment him for many a long day, by its overpowering perfume, which nothing could get rid of. The deputy's handkerchief was forthcoming in a moment. Like a prudent man who knew what he had to expect, he had provided himself with a second; and when he received it again well saturated, he quietly dropped it on the floor. Aglar was at play with his ball in the gardens, tossing it up to the balcony through which his little sisters and Kathleen were peeping, when Rattam reappeared.

He was anxious to show the young sahibs the wild beasts in the gardens; not only Oliver, but Horace also. That unmanageable young gentleman was clamouring for the ball, which bounded high over Aglar's head; so that Rattam's proposition was thankfully acceded to by all parties. The boys visited the dark dens, with their paved floors, well sluiced with water from the lake, which were built at intervals in the midst of myrtle bowers and clustering roses, and watched the fierce striped tigers, growling behind the strong iron bars which enclosed the front of the dens.

Rattam drew Oliver aside. "It is a tale of magic," he whispered, "in which all our people believe, but yours do not. Yet the beebee Desborough must possess some powerful charms. Think of the breastplate she gave my brother! A bit of sticky paper, but possessing such virtue."

"Bosh!" muttered Oliver. "It was a plaster, wasn't it?" and he laughed heartily.

"These charms that I wear," continued Rattam, touching the loops of tigers' teeth in his turban and the silver chains round his neck, "will keep me from all evil, unless I destroy their power by some act of my own."

"Then," retorted Oliver, "I should call them reminders to do right and fear no evil."

"Ah, you English have such different ideas to ours!" said Rattam. "But I have sent for an old man from the village--a hunter who has roamed the forests all his life. He knows the footprint of every animal that lives in them. I will send him into the jungle to see if there is a wild child about; such things do occasionally happen, as our people know."

Rattam had been working hard at his English since he brought the fruit and flowers to Mrs. Desborough, and he was an apt scholar; but he learned it all from books. As they were speaking, a remarkable old man entered the gardens, and approached Rattam, bowing to the ground.

*CHAPTER XI.*

_*THE FOOTPRINT.*_

"There he is!" said Rattam, waving his hand grandly. "Look at him well. Did you ever see such eyes? He is Tara Ghur, the oldest shikaree, or hunter, among the hills, and he does what few beside himself would dare to do. He goes alone into the forest for days, marking the tracks of the game, that he may know which way to lead the hunting-parties. He was ready to start when I sent for him."

Oliver looked curiously at the wiry figure before him, so unlike the rest of the Rana's servants. His eyes were light blue, with a piercing glance and a flash like burnished steel. His cap and waistcloth were a dull greeny brown, that yet approached to yellow in the sunlight. In fact, it was so exactly the same hue as the parched and dying leaves in the drought of summer, that when he was creeping among the bushes he could scarcely be distinguished from them. He carried a light bamboo over his shoulder, with a small water-pot slung at one end, and a skin of atta, or meal, at the other. This was all the food he took with him. His hunting-knife was in his hand, as if he had been trying its edge, but he stuck it in his belt and lowered his rusty matchlock to do honour to the son of his chief.

"He has the true Tartar eye," continued Rattam, "gifted with a power of sight that can detect the smallest speck in the distance and recognize it at once, no matter how far off it is or how queer it looks. He is never deceived, and we have never known him make a mistake. Now tell him what you like."

Oliver did not trust much to his own scant stock of Indi. He caught up the ball and sent it bounding before him. This, as he expected, set off Horace running after it, whilst Aglar called out to his bearer to pick up his "golee."

Down tumbled Horace. Oliver pulled him up, and taking off his hat, showed him to the shikaree. The old man surveyed him curiously.

"Child like this carried off by booraba. Search for any trace of it. Reward sure," said Oliver, asking Rattam to repeat his words for fear old Tara should not understand.

He did so, adding, "Search in the koonds by the ruined temple."

The old man's keen eye glittered as he salaamed to the very ground.

Oliver turned round to the fat boy in his silks and satins, and shook him warmly by the hand until he made the twining, serpent-shaped bracelets jingle. "We are going to be chums after this," he said.

"Chums!" repeated Rattam; "what are they?"

"Friends, if you like it better," retorted Oliver.

"Friends! ah, that I understand. That is good," replied the young chieftain, taking Oliver's hand between his own in his Eastern fashion. Happily for Oliver, no little bag of musk was near to drop into it. He was perfumed past all endurance already by "that beggar with the scent-bottle."

"Now," cried Oliver, "I should like to be off with the old man. I'm good for a ten-mile walk any day. What say you? Could we be back again before my uncle starts?"

Rattam drew himself up with dignity. "It would hardly become me to walk," he said with emphasis.

Oliver's impatient shrug was cut short by a summons to the hall of audience. The deputy was going. It was Rattam's turn to sigh, for he was as weary of perching on a chaukee, or chair, as Oliver was of the scent-bottle. He managed to draw up one leg unseen by his tutor.

Mrs. Desborough was amused to discover the fabulous powers attributed to her, and soothed the Ranee's disappointment by sketching the three little girls as they stood together in the flickering light and shade cast from the fretwork of the balcony.

But now the word passed round that the sahib was going. A breath of life entered into the five shawl bundles. Rattam's other foot found its way to the floor. In walked the two stout gentlemen in white with a tray of wreaths. Oliver espied the scent-bottle in the back-ground, and thought about flight. The Rana took up a splendid wreath of weeping jessamine, with its pure white blossoms trailing loosely over his outspread arm, and dropped it solemnly over the deputy's head. He, poor man, was doing his utmost to preserve his gravity, and half succeeded. But Mr. Desborough's utterly failed when a superb circlet of white and orange _immortelles_ found its way to his neck. He took refuge in a fit of coughing, which approached strangulation when he caught sight of Horace's face. The little fellow was just brought in from the gardens, and stared with wide-open eyes, literally struck dumb by his father's absurd appearance. For the five by the wall gravely left their chairs and followed the Rana's example, until Mr. Desborough's shirt front was lost to sight beneath the multitude of garlands.

The band was gathering in the porch, and the pompous peons were waiting.

"Good-night, gentlemen," said the deputy, shaking hands all round.

"By your honour's condescension, may your slaves be reserved in health," replied the five, salaaming to the ground, and they followed him to the top of the steps, where the Rana was standing.

The tomtoms and trumpets struck up with a sudden blare as the horses were led forward.

Oliver squeezed Rattam's hand as he whispered his last question, "When will the shikaree get back?"

"I shall send him to you," answered Rattam; and they parted.

Mrs. Desborough and the children were already in their dandies, crossing the bridge, as the horses cantered out of the castle gate sniffing the cool hill breezes.

"In pity, free me from this rubbish, boy," sighed the deputy, turning to his nephew; when he beheld ten coolies running behind them, carrying between them jars of sweetmeats slung upon bamboos--a parting gift from the Rana.

"Uncle," said Oliver in a low voice, "I have something to tell you."

Whilst Mr. Desborough shunted wreath after wreath into his wife's lap, shaking himself after each surrender like a dog emerging from the water, Oliver was explaining to his uncle about Rattam and the shikaree.

Horace was fast asleep, and Kathleen's eyes were blinking, when they reached the bungalow.

"Cheer up, little woman!" whispered Oliver, as he bade her good-night; "Master Gravity, in his saffron satin, is going to find out what his fellows have really seen."

"You shall have my bird!" she exclaimed in her rush of gratitude.

"Nonsense, you silly little goose! You must not give away a keepsake. Do you think I am like those dusky beggars on the hill? My hands are empty enough, ready for work, and I mean to keep them so," retorted Oliver, stretching them out with intense satisfaction to prove the truth of his words.

He did not see her again, for by daybreak the Desboroughs were all _en route_ for home, sweet home.

How happy the children were to see the many-gabled roof once more, embowered as usual in an ever-increasing mass of foliage and flowers, and replete with joyous life in every corner! The owl still sat in the entrance of his hole, blinking benevolently at Kathleen and Horace as they took their first run round the wide, cool veranda hand in hand, just to see if all the old pets were safe. Kites and hoopoes and blue jays were screaming and croaking to their hearts' content.

The ayah called Kathleen to look at her billee, as she called the kitten, which had grown immensely in their absence. Then she lifted up Horace to watch the gitchree, or squirrel, leaping from bough to bough among the garden trees, and to listen to the cooing of the jangalee, or wood-pigeon.

The dark faces of the gardener and the bhisti appeared at unexpected corners, with new treasures they had been saving for the little beebee.

One had tamed a moongus, a cat-like creature as big as a greyhound, and excellent for rats and mice, and equally good for cockroaches and many another insect pest which life in India knows only too much about.

Its soft gray coat and arching back, and all its amusing ways, won a smile from mamma as it ran about the house, sniffing at every new thing, and examining every hole and corner with the greatest curiosity. Finally, it set to work with teeth and claw, and dug itself a subterranean retreat by the door-step, where it could munch its dinner undisturbed by the liberties of its many neighbours. It was so clean, mamma had not a word to say against it. So with that and Kathleen's mina, who was trusted to leave his cage whenever he liked, the children had plenty of amusement, and the first few days at home sped rapidly away.

One evening, when they were returning from their walk, Kathleen with Sailor by her side, and a coolie holding an umbrella over them both, they were hailed by Oliver, who was driving in his uncle's boondee (a hooded gig drawn by two oxen) to the gates of the indigo factory. A long train of native carts, creaking under their load of indigo pulp, were waiting to enter. One ghareewan, or carter, had brought a rumour that a fair child had been seen by some hunters in the jungle. The tale had passed from lip to lip, until it had reached Mr. Desborough, who was pacing his office floor in unwonted agitation.

Oliver sprang out of the chaise and made his way through the press with most unusual energy for India. He entered the labyrinth of straw-thatched sheds, passed the great crushing-mill, which a party of half-dressed men were treading, and got splashed by the dark-blue stream issuing from it. Never mind; on he pressed, inquiring for the sahib. He was almost deafened by the hissing and sputtering of the steam from the huge boiling vat, when he became aware that on all sides the men were rushing from their work, and pointing to a dark reddish cloud that had suddenly appeared in the north.

He could not tell in the least what all this uproar could mean, so he tried to edge his way through the crowd of hideous blue figures who were gesticulating and screaming at their loudest. Then they began to snatch up the stones around them, which they poised in their hands as if prepared to hurl them at the skies. Oliver thought of a riot, and was thankful to perceive Mr. Desborough himself step out from one of the numerous sheds and glance hurriedly around. Just then a stick struck Oliver on the head. He looked round; a second was thrown at him. The men had not sent it, for it came from an opposite direction. He glanced upwards; another was hurled at his back. He did not like that at all. In spite of the agitation visible in Mr. Desborough's manner, he began to laugh as Oliver tried to run from his unseen persecutors, and pointed to the roof of a great shed out of which the busy workers were rushing pell-mell. Oliver looked up, and saw a troop of black-faced monkeys, big fellows three or four feet high, clambering over it. They caught his eye at last, and then the shower was renewed in earnest. He saw their switching tails and grinning teeth. And oh, the chattering and jabbering from five-and-twenty monkeys in a passion was something very tremendous indeed! Oliver gathered up a handful of the sticks which were showered around him, and shied them back again.

"Stop, stop, my lad!" shouted Mr. Desborough. "Throwing at monkeys will not do. Come in here."

Oliver darted into the counting-house, fully believing the riot he had been anticipating among the men was already in full swing among the monkeys.

"They are hunimans, my boy, the most sacred of all the monkey tribe. Had you hurt one of them you might have paid for it with your life. Timid and peaceable as my men appear, they would have mobbed you in a moment," exclaimed Mr. Desborough.

"Peaceable!" repeated Oliver; "why, they are yelling like furies."

"Oh, they are watching the locusts. Can't you see them coming?" replied Mr. Desborough, pointing to the rapidly-moving cloud, which seemed extending itself in every direction, darkening the air as it came.