Such funny things live behind my tent! What should I find the other
day but a little native baby--about two or three years old. It seems
his mother is dead, and his father, who is our _chokidar_, has to take
him with him wherever he goes. He is the oddest little figure, clothed
in a most inadequate shirt, and a string round his neck with a shell
attached to keep away evil spirits. His hair is closely shaved except
for one upstanding tuft which is left to pull him up to heaven with;
and his face looks nothing but two great twinkling eyes. He squats
beside me nearly all day, and eagerly eats anything I give him, like a
little puppy dog. Toffee and fancy biscuits, both of which I possess
in abundance, are his favourites. An old servant of Boggley's is with
a sahib near here, and he arrived dressed in spotless white from
head to foot, bearing in one hand a large seed cake wreathed with
marigolds, and in the other a plate of toffee coloured pink, green,
and yellow, an offering to the Miss Sahib which he presented with many
salaams, and of which my little Hindoo gets the benefit. Autolycus and
the _chuprassis_ take a great interest in teaching him manners. When
I hold out a biscuit Autolycus says sternly, "Say salaam to the Miss
Sahib," and the baby puts his small hand gravely to his forehead,
bowing low with a "Talaam, Mees Tahib," then snaps up the prize.
I shall miss my little companion. I wonder what will become of
him--little brown heir of the ages.
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