Complete Story. The Mudaliyar’s Case.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXXI, Issue XVI, 17 October 1903, Page 8

Complete Story. The Mudaliyar’s Case.

Little Batesia sat on her mat under the Pandall making wreaths. She tweaked and tied and twisted the flowers into thick chains, and the rejected stalks lay scattered all over the ground. A pair of friendly green parakeets watched the work from a rod beneath the thatch, and some squirrels in unnecessary fur coats took short cuts quite close to the prettychild.

Suddenly a breath of wind rumpled the tamarind leaves, and rustled the palms. The heat of the day was over. Batesia tueked in her last bit of jessamine and jumped up with a happy little scream The parakeets cried out ( hique-chique! and a squirrel scampering away looked back at her over its tail. Then she gath ered up her garlands and darted into the house.

"Little mother! little mother!* she called, “hast thou forgotten our Tomasha?”

What is this talk of Tomashas?” answered her mother from the semi-dark-ness of an inner room; “canst thou talk of Tomashas, light of my life, when thy father is even now at court with that vile woman, the Malabar witchwoman, for his enemy? Who can tell how the law will go?' Perhaps this evil one will cast spells on thy father. Ai! Ai! Ai! or on the Vakeel, nay, even on the assistant Dore!” Batesia stood by the charpoy on which her mother was "lying. 'Thou art the foolish one to talk this way! these flowers are for the neck of my father, who wins his case, lie is a good man. The Penalicode is just, the English Dore does not mind this witchwoman one little bit of rice! Therefore. I) my mother, we will have Tomasha!” “Thou mayst be right, my princess: little ones sometimes have reason.** agreed the poor woman, and she sat up and began clubbing her hair into a great lump upon one side of her head. Her eyes were bloodshot, but she smiled. "Behold!” she said, "thy mother hath not forgotten to prepare for the feast.’* Batesia clapped her hands, then stroked her mother’s faee lovingly. “Ah, bah! lam but wax in thy little hands,” Rungamma cried, feeling all the better for her child’s sweet assurance, and she got up and arranged her cloth, whilst Batesia opened a gaily painted box and took out her two greatest treasures. “Equeen” was a flaxen-haired doll with blankly blue eyes, her gown was red satin, and the clumsy little crown upon her head was made of real gold. “Eprinchie” was a sailor boy of a different composition; his subtle glass eyes had strange lights in them. Batesia clasped the two dolls lovingly in her arms, and skipped off into the garden: her mother followed with the garlands and chatties. Cinna Swami, the gardener, came running towards them. “Ohe, Ohe. Rungam ma,” he called, and Rungamma stretched out her slender arms in alarm, as if to keep off evil news. Cinna Swami was an under-dressed man; however, his dark skin seemed to cover all deficiencies. At this moment he was trying to hide his white-toothed smile with an earthy hand. “What is thy news?” cried Rungamma shrilly, for her heart was beating loud. “The case is finished, the Tabook Peon has told me over the wall; the Shiristadar also says the same.” Batesia ran to her mother. "My father has won!” she said, in a clear, jubilant tone.

“The Mudaliyar has won!” Cinna Swami asserted triumphantly; then, with a tongue rolling at the back of his throat, he told them how Cheeru. the vile woman, had been fined, “ah, bah! plentv rupees! and how with her craft she had threatened to turn the Mudaliyar into a mud lizard, and how the young collector Dore had begun to look like a bat. when, luckily, the Vakeel snapped his fingers in her faee and so turned the spell.”

This and much else did Cinna Swami impart. Rungamma swayed to and fro in terror as she heard these tales, but

Batesia picked up her garland; she was only just in time, for there, coining through the door in the wall, was the Mudaliyar. The child ilew down the path to meet him. He caught her with two hands round the little bare waist, and lifted her into the air. In this way she dropped her wreath over his head. Rungamma hurried up. looking wistfully, at her husband.

“1 am thy man.” he said, guessing her fears; “the Malabar witch hath not changed one hair. Bah! she is a foolish woman and hath lost rupees”; then he laughed. “Thou art brave!” Kungamma exclaimed. with admiration at his indifference.

“Shoo,” he replied, feeling a hero. *‘l only did my duty. This is what the collector Dore says: this is his word. Hey! Soomasoondrum. if more men like you would only tackel these wit ch women, the law would soon cure them. This is better than tooth-breaking or beating with castor-oil rods. And I say all that is true, your honour, only these poor devils fear the evil eye, so they make bunderbust.”

An interested group listened to Soomasoondruni's wise remarks, for the servants had quickly gathered to welcome him. Batesia patted his turban ami

whispered. ”O. brave father! give these a sheep to rejoice with!” Her word was

law. “Ho’. (. iuna Swami ” he cr ed. “the tlower of the garden decrees that a sheep must be eaten to-night.” C inna Swami’s white teeth seemed more extensive than ever.

The Mudaliyar turned to his wife. “And thou, mother of my little one. shalt have a new jewe!,” he said. She was still looking at him with awe.

“And what for thy daughter?” asked the little one, gaily.

“All that she desires,” her father replied. for he certainly was also like wax in her hands. “Then shalt thou come to my Tomasha.” Batesia cried, remembering her dolls left in solitary state. * That may I not do,” Soomasoondrum said, remorsefully, “for even now does Haman wait to receive the news from me. It is important. I must give order.”

• True,” said Runganima, “he is thy tenant whom thou hast protected.”

“Then I go also.” Batesia decided, “in the bullock bandi with thee; and the little mother will care for Equeen and Eprinchie.”

Soomasoondrum was good-looking. He had a benevolent smile and a shrewd glance. His prosperous waist showed clearly to the Indian eye that he had wealth and position, for in the East stoutness ennobles. As he sat in the coach opposite his little treasure there could l>e no happier man. Everything had come to him. and without long waiting, for he was still in the prime of life: richer than even people guessed, and father of a young son who had already begun to gather in rupees. To crown all. he was father of this loveliest girl-child. Little Batesia was sitting with tuckedup feet on the cushion, radiant with happiness, singing softly to herself. It was a quaint Tamil song— If the bird hath no feathers, how shall it fly? The Mudaliyar listened, and then -slid: ‘Thou must learn English songs, my tender one. for thou art a Christian, and thy godmother is an English lady.” “I hav*» learnt,” she replied, nodding her head gravely. “Shall I sing about i he little male?” Her father beamed assent, and she piped: Where are 100 zoing to. my pretty male. Where are 100 zoing to? I’m zoing amiltin, sir. she say. My ishbusiness for toloo. toloo. My ishbusiness for toloo. Say willoo marry me. my pretty male. Say willoo marry me?

Oyessifoo plea kin’ sir, she say, Oh! I illmarry loo—o—o! Oh! I illmarry 100. “Aha!” cried the Muaaliyar, wagging his head. He was delighted. By this time the bullocks had taken them well out into the country, jogging steadily along a level road between two lakes. The sunset sky was reflected in the waters. Batesia twisted her neck to watch the solemn flight of birds high, high up in the air. “Were they going to heaven?” she asked. Her father thought not.

But her eyes were soon obliged to come down to the earth, for yelping pariah dogs and shouting merry children hurried out to receive the Mudaliyar as he passed through the village. Raman, the tenant, was sitting on his heels in front of his mud-walled house waiting for ne<ws. Soomasoondrum descended from the eoach in a heavy, pompous way. All the villagers were impressed by his dignity and by his beautiful Nellore bullocks.

It was a long time before the important talk was finished, and when at last the Mudalivar came back, still having

“last words,” the daylight had gone and the moon had risen.

Batesia was asleep, stretched out upon the cushions, with the moonlight bright on her faee. Her father climbed up into the eoach (noiselessly, as fat men can), and took her in his arms, wits knew where she was, although her She awoke in a moment, and her nimble eyes were full of sleep.

"What wonder is this?” she asked, "the sun was in the sky just row- and lo! 1 open my eyes and the white moon is here. Who gave older to change this

way so quick? "It is the way of lite,” Soomasoondrum replied, “first one thing, then another, now food, then famine. Soon these waters will be drawn away, and maybe no rain will bless the land.”

His thoughts reverted to the last sea son. when the crops had failed.

Batesia went on with the idea—- “ Now the moon has no clouds, soon little clouds coming from one corner,” her eyes strayed over the pale moon lit sky, and then down to a dark building which rose against it. “What is that black hill?” she asked.

“Huh! little sleepy one. that is no hill. Yonder is the Tunkum. the place of pure gold! Though where the gold is only the wicked Rajah knows, and he is gone. He was a proud Rajah! When, because of his bad ways, the English Government scolding—E-E-E? He put his big diamonds in his mouth. G-m-n-m! they went down his throat, and he died in the dark place beneath.”

Batesia clutched at her father. He smiled at her fright, and went on: ‘‘Often in days gone by have I crept up the long steps fearing the bulldog lying hidden at the top; many times have I fled before the Shaitan. But Essmith Dore was a good gentleman: a great Shikar! He would talk about many things to me sitting on my chair

thinking of the dark place beneath. There was the treasure wasting! That was a sad thought. But devils slept there also, therefore no one lu.d courage. Snakes there were. One night two punkah-wallahs going up the hi<fli stairs saw a cobra slipping, slippin" on in front. Then came Essmith Dore witli his gun, and shot up the narrow stair and the big snake leaped and fell. The sound went round—Poum! Poum' and every stone did speak.” “I fear! I fear!” cried Batesia. nest ling up to her father. “Poh, what harm to thee? But the Rajah down below was angry, and he woke up and his spirit walked.” Then she cried again: “My father! mv father!”

But Soomasoondrum loved the feel of the little clinging creature, and wetn on. “Ho! the wieked Rajah walked, and the jewels he had swallowed shone in his bones like big stars! This the Dore sanne saw; then did she become verv sick, and all the people saying she must die. But Ramswami prayed two nights, and. behold, the lady grew well!” The Doresanne’s recovery gladdened Batesia. "Dost thou know, 0 my father, why the sick lady grew well? Ramswami only praying to false god. Then the true God listening said, ‘Poor man: he knows nothing! he thinks the false god can hear, but his prayer is good. I will answer!’ Seest thou. O wise father, this is how it came -to pass?” Soomasoondrum looked with admiration at his little Christian. “Thou wilt grow up even as thy godmother desires.” he said fondly; then he added: “and thou art all my heart can wish.”

The driver had chosen another way to return: it brought them not far from the gloomy Tunkum. and as they passed they saw a tall man striding up the broad banyan avenue that led to it. "Hi! hi! stay!” Soomasoondrum called out; and the eoach stopped whilst lie got out and hurried as fast as tus dignity would allow him.

"Daood Khan!" he cried: "Phwee-h! a word with thee. Thou art the very man I want.”

Daood Khan turned back at this summons. and the two men began to talk. Now little Batesia did not like being left alone, for she was afraid of the Rajah’s wicked spirit. When a light suddenly shone from the dark building she jumped out of the coach in a panic to run to her father. And as she did so an evil creature sprang from the darkness, and, howling, leaping, and foaming at the mouth, poured out curses upon the child of Soomasoondrum. It was Cheeru, the Malabar witch-wo-man. Daood Khan was the first to reach her. and with his great hand flung her violently away. He could stay to do no more, for Batesia lay still upon the ground like a little bird shot through the heart. Then Soomasoondrum came, but it was Daood Khan who picked up the sweet thing and hurried to the coach. “Get in.” he said to the poor father, who seemed to have lost his senses. However, he stumbled into his place, and for the second time that

evening held tkie <> his arms- her cheek pressed against the withered garland. > "Drive on. drive! ye son of a lame dog. Beat! spare not!’’ shouted Daoorl Khan, as the bullocks started. He ran ahead like the wind, and sent the first man he saw for the English doctor. "Allah! Allah!” he eried, as he raced on to bear the news to Rungamma. She wa» w*Hin" at the door in the wall, and she knew before he told her—for her heart, had not Warned her in vain. When the doctor arrived Batesia was »t ill unconscious, but before long she showed signs of recovery. The doctor hastily disappeared. "Don't alarm her now, d'ye see? la>t her think it all light, and give her this to drink. I -think, Mudaliyar. I'll just take a stroll in votir garden.”

The air smelt sweet with tuberose and gardenia. Dr. Filiben paced up and down, putting what he had heard together. Presently Soomasoondrum, with his turban all awry, came to him. The child was sleeping. "You go to your bed.” the kind doctor said cheerily, "and very likely 1 may call early in the morning.” But when he came again, and it was early, Batesia was in a fever. “She does not move,” Runganinia said; "she does not move.”

The fever was conquered, however, and the delirium that was with it; hut the powerlessness remained. "The result of fever and fright,” Dr. Filiben explained; “we shall have to try a battery.” And he was disappointed when he found this fail.

"\Ve must cheer her up," he said to the unhappy 1 parents, "raise.her spirits and she'll raise herself. D'ye see that now ?”

Mr Howard called one morning. lie had tried the ease, and had laughed at the woman's threats; and now he was shocked at the tragedy of the thing. "May I see your little daughter!" he asked Soomasoondrum, as he stood talking to him at the garden door. .Soomasoondrum was delighted at the idea, for Howatt Dore (as the natives called him) besides being courteous and well-spoken had an appearance of dazzling freshness. His elose-cropped hair shone like gold, his pink and white complexion defied the Indian sun, the colour of his eyes was the clear blue of a baby’s, and his red lips, hidden by no moustache, showed milk-white teeth when he smiled! And his clothes seemed to share, in the general freshness. Everything about him was smart, and fitted his well set-up figure. Little Batesia was lying on a bamboo cot. which had been placed for her on tiie flat roof of the house. She was astonished at the sight of the new visitor. She admired this big white Dore. The doctor was very pleased at finding the young civilian there, and said so. "Ye may do a grand thing here." he declared, “and leave me and my battery behind, for I have not a doubt of it that it. is a ease of nerves. If only she could be stirred to make an effort. The little darling!" After this Howatt Dore paid almost daily visits to the child with all sorts of odds and ends in his pockets to amuse her. An extraordinary penwiper made by his little sister, his diamond fox pin and a note book in which he drew pictures. His friends declared he was scarcely safe in their rooms with his mania for collecting little things. One afternoon Soomasoondrum carried Batesia down the grass walk to a little Tope further on, where Ids choice grafted mangoes and Guindy plantains grew. Cinna Swami and the water carrier were busy close by at the well. The sing-song and the creak and plash seemed to harmonise with the surroundings. But Batesia was silent. It was the first time she had been there since the dolls' Tomasha: dhe was perhaps thinking of that happy aft ernoon. Soomasoondrum assumed an air of unnatural liveliness. Batesia wondered sometimes over her .lather’s noisy, strange manner. Poor man! his heart was breaking, and ho played the fool badly. It was a great relief to him when he saw Howatt Dore coming towards them. His terrier, “Bop,” followed at his heels.

“How do you do. Mudaliyar” he said, “1 have brought my dog Bop to show her to little Barley Sugar. What a tipping place to bring her to! Don't you like being here, little one* Shall

I slay and read my Tapal before I go on for tennis’”

Batesia looked at him smiling: she liked being called Barley Sugar.

Howatt Dore sat down. “Look here. Barley Sugar. I have taught Bop to sit up (ait up. Bop. and look amiable! There!) Well! although you and I are such friends you have not yet sat up once to please me. Try. I’ll give you a lesson now!” as he spoke he put out his arm. "Come, catch hold with your little paws and see how high you can ait.” Batesia put up her hands obediently, but a look of terror came into her face, and she let them drop. "I can nott! I can nott!” she said hopelessly, "b< ealause vile woman curlursing mv bones.”

"You silly little owl.” Howatt Dore protected, in the tenderest way, “it is only that you are such a precious coward—if that vile woman cursed you till she was blue in the face she could not really hurt you. Now try again." “I can nott!" wept the little creature.

Howatt Dore lent forward with hi« hands on bis knees. “Well—she has frightened you, that is clear. What shall we do to the wicked old thing?” Batesia paused a moment, then said softly, “Cinna Swami saying ean nott find now. That woman quick turning into esnake —perhaps gone to wicked Rajah Hou-se." "But, Barley Sugar,” Howatt Dore remonstrated, "you know that is foolish talk." The child continued. “Cinna Swami saying when she. coming back plenty people cutting plenty stick."

"By Jove! to beat her with?" “And Cinna Swami getting big hook."

"What? to swing her with?" "Cinna Swami saying yes. I saying no. For why? I eurlisehian child. I forgive.”

"Quite right, quite right,” Howatt Dore approved. "You are a dear good little person. But Daood Khan has got his eye upon the old Horror. He’ll bring her to me. You don't mind my taking her in hand, do you?” Batesia’s eyes fell upon his hands as Ire spoke. “You may. Your hands are white and curlean,” she replied, and they certainly were, with pink nails such as no Indian ever had. "And now that is settled,” Howatt Dore said cheerfully, "I am going to look at my letters. Here is a picture paper for you. Just eome all the way from England.” Batesia became quite cheerful. She found a picture that she wanted to hear about. Soomasoondrum sitting on the ground explained. It was the Queen visiting the soldiers in Netley Hospital. Howatt Dore left the father and Child happy together, and went rather late to his tennis. On his way home he met the collector, who said: — “I’ve just sent you some papers, Howard; I hope you will be able to start early to-morrow. You'll see that it is important." He had to go, of course, and he went to the doctor’s bungalow after dinner to tell him. The doctor was furious. "I can’t spare you," he said: “you

are my- assistant partner, and just as you are about to work miracles! I have been to the Mudaliyar’s to-night, and found the poor little young child a world better.

Howard was pleased. "IVe talked TlMiut the whole affair and I bullied her. Thought it did her good, poor little kiddie.”

"And so it did." agreed the doctor, gets it off her nerves. These neurotic cases want a deal of tact, and a bright and beautiful ornament like yourself is the one to use it!” Howard smoked in silence for a minute, and then asked: “You don’t think there is anything radically wrong?" "Ornoo!” the doctor replied hastily, in a soft deprecating Irish voice, “Ornoo! You’ll see how she’ll be getting over it with care. It is nothing but hysteria—so I think.” "Hysteria doesn’t seem the right word. Filiben, for. don’t you know, she has such a lot of self-control and all that sort of thing.” "But that word means much," the doctor explained, "and 1 declare I shall have a touch of it myself, if you arc going against me like this. Faith! I’ll write a medical certificate that you are unfit for duty!" Howard laughed. "Tell the little thing that 1 have ordered more pictures for her, and a box of soldiers from Madras.” Dr. Filiben watched Howard as he

left the compound. "And to think I'll have to fill the place of that ycung Apollo!" he murmured.

He did his best, however, when he paid bis next visit. After luakiug professional inquiries. he sat down by a lovely plumbago bush and pulled a "Graphic” out of his bulgy pocket. At that time every paper was filled with soldier pictures. And the doctor kuew all about them! Each man had a thrilling history of his own. and to each was given a well deserved reward.

The sick soldiers visited by Her Majesty recovered at once, ami the Queen made gracious speeches to them ail. When the soldiers arrived, spick and span, from Madras, and the Queen in her bath chair was cut out of the picture and stuck upon cardboard with a prop, a great review took place.

The wounded soldiers lay on the ground until spoken to by their sovereign, after which they "got well" and took their places in the ranks. Then Dr. Filiben sang “The Soldiers of the Queen." and finished off with the national air. His voice was a touching tenor, which appealed to ears trained and untrained. Rungamma’s soft eyes were fixed upon the cnild, who seemed strangely excited.

Cinna Swami stole after the doctor as he was leaving and presented him with a large white button-hole. “Now, what are ye giving me this for?” he asked.

But Cinna Swami could only ejaculate “Ah, bah!” and try to hide his mouth whilst the doctor worked the big stalks into his coat.

Good ugly little man! his brown holland coat humped up at the neck, and his trousers were all crumpled and l)a ggy; but tire- beauty of a kind heart showed in his face. On his way home he met two young civilians. “Hullo, Filiben!” they called out. "have you come from your wedding?” “Ornoo.” he replied, looking d,.wn at. his white flowers: “not so bad as all that; but I have just been visiting a poor little wee sick child who is paying the costs of her father’s law suit."

The next day many inquiries were made of the doctor about the little wee. siek child. Bui with his happy, obtuse Irish nature he saw no jokes, good or bad. unless they were explained to him. He could only make them. But Batesia did not thrive, she lost interest in everything: the soldiers even.

Rungawma told the doctor so, iu bar halting English.

“No very better, eating no, talking u«. onalee thinking, thinking p lew tee too much.”

Sootnasooudrum nt. the other eud of the gardeu was weakly crying. The doctor became distracted. “Now what in tire world .re ye about?” he said sharply; “do you want to depress the poor baby? And I'm thinking of a plan that will do her a deal more good than that! There is a friend of mine now in Madras. He i-> a grand doctor, he is! Aim! what with travelling in a train, and looking here. «ad looking there, why. a journey would do a cure in itself!”

The doctor's soft, breathless brogue, and his decorative way of putting things carried comfort to the father, and he agreed to the plan. Bur although part ly reassured, he could not sleep that night. At last he crept into the child's room. A cocoanut oil lamp sufiieieudy lit up the place for him to see Rungaiu tna lying on the ground by the side of the cot, motionless in her tightly wrap ped blanket. Batesia was lying high upon red pillows, and her lovely little face seemed to him too beautiful to.be looked at. He squatted down and buri ed his head in his arms; then a fear came to him, and ho fastened nervously. Her breathing could be heard, but "it was irregular, and a sudden sob made him bold enough to look nt her. Although her eyes were shut she was not asleep, and below the long lashes he could see traces of tears.

“Thou art not asleep, little flower of the night,” he said tenderly. “Dost thou dream? Tell thy father of what thou art thinking.” Batesia felt for his hand, "f am think iug. my father, of the great Equeen.” she murmured.

"Aha!” cried .Soomasoondrum. reliev ed. “and thou hast not forgotten Eptin chie. her son?”

“It is of the great Equeen only that I think: and of her soldiers. She has looked at them and. behold, they are well! O little father! if she could look on me—l too should be well. But now, never — never”: then she sobbed outright.

"Shu! shu!” he said soothingly, "thou shall be well by the full of the moon, my princess.” Batesia continued, still sobbing: -If was in the light of the moon that, the evil woman eursed my bones. Now

only the great Equeen can make them well.”

Soomasoondrum felt the little form begin to tremble. “Then shall we go to England,” he said decidedly. "How can we go to England, O my father!”

“This can we do, thou. I and thy mother. I say true word.” He spoke with conviction, and with a swift joy in thinking there was something clearly to be done. Batesia began to coo “My father, my father”; but the overflow of tears could not so quickly be dried —she smiled and shook and sobbed.

Her father hushed her. “Shu! shu! Thou must sleep now, and thy father must make ready. Sleep, sleep, my little star, sleep, sleep—sleep whilst thy father maketh plans. First the train, then the big ship. Thou shalt travel as a rich man's daughter.” “O best of fathers, art thou rich!”

“On this journey thy father is rich. Everyone asking, Who is this rich Indian gentleman? His wife hath costly shawls worth thousand rupees. Her jewels are shining; and for the little daughter, ah, bah! nothing is good enough! Then by and by the great Equeen, looking at this family, will smile and ” Soomasoondrum ceased speaking, for a fluttering breath came from Batesia’s Tips. The pretty child was asleep.

As the father withdrew, the mother emerged from her blanket and softly (did into his place. She had heard all. It mattered little to her where they went so long as her child recovered. After a few hours’ sleep Soomasoondrum hurried off to see the doctor. He was having tea in his verandah. looking bumpier than ever in the early morning stiffness of freshly washed brown holland.

“So you are taking my little small wee patient away from me, Mudali?” he said, when he heard the decision. “Anyhow, I’m not the one to blame ye -—for haven’t I told you now it is all a matter of nerves? Well, well, you are a father in a thousand. May your journey be a success, and blessings attend it!”

Soomasoondrum lost no time in making arrangements. He knew very well what to do. for he had often assisted in sending off English families. He put his affairs in order, and telegraphed for a cabin, and he engaged a servant, a Madrasee. who had had much experience in travelling. The coach and bullocks sold for twice as much as he had given for them. He seemed to attract money. Only that morning a post brought a letter from his bankers telling him of a large sum made by one of his recent transactions. He chuckled when he remembered the child’s question: “Art thou rich, O best of fathers?”

Howatt Dore had been kept longer out in the district than he had expected. When he arrived at the Rajahram station early one morning (fresh and fair as usual, although he had been travelling all night) he was astonished to see Soomasoondrum on the platform.

'Hullo!” he called out; “what are you doing here. Mudaliyar! And how is little Barley Sugar?”

Soomasoondrum answered pufllly, “She is here, your honor,” and he pointed to her in the arms of an ira-

portant looking man. “We are going to England, your rmoour.’’ he spoke hurriedly, and climbed up into the car-

riage. “To see the great Equeen,” little Batesia added, smiling at Howatt Dore over the servant's shoulder as he followed his master.

Rungamnia went last. “The doctor must tell me all about this,” Howatt Dore said, and as he spoke he saw hint jump into the next compartment. “Is Rajahrain deserted?” Howatt Dore asked, “and are you off to England also, Filiben?” “Only as far as Madras, worse luek,” replied the doctor, looking down at him. His chin was black with court plaster—he had cut himself horribly whilst shaving. Howard could hear no more, he had to stand back, for some natives, bent upon travelling, were hurrying to and fro like frightened fowls.

It was only when on board that the Mudaliyar's active mind took rest—complete, overpowering rest—for he was too ill to think about anything. After a few days of unspeakable wretchedness, however, he became better, and then he was able to go up on deck. Batesia was there, comfortably arranged upon her pretty pillows, Rungamnia, in a white sare, sat by her child. Lazarus was a satisfactory servant. Already the little one seemed better, she was no longer listless. A good deal of interest was taken in the Indians by the passengers on board. Mrs Martin (for Mrs Martinet, as she was generally called) was the first to speak to them. She very soon knew the Soomasoondrum story, and took a kind, common-sense view of it. “You only did your duty, Mr Soomasoondrum, in having that woman brought before the magistrate, but you were wrong in letting the child be out so late. That was a fault, punctuality is so particularly desirable for young children. In bed" by eight. That is the time, Mrs Soomasoondrum; and if only you had taught the important lesson of obedience, ready obedience, why, you would not have had any trouble like this. Nonsense! You would have said jump up, and the child would have jumped up without thinking. Implicit obedience. That is what I insist upon, ask the Colonel if I do not.”

“Mrs Martin most certainly does,” the Colonel said quickly. He was her great admirer, and a meek little man. He desired nothing better than to be sheltered by his masterly wife and to back her statements. “As to the woman’s curses,” Mrs Martin continued, “they were really nothing to mind. Tramps curse everywhere on the English highroads, and I have heard people who ought to know better say very strange things. You should hear some of our soldiers’ wives. Dreadful!” “Dreadful!” echoed the Colonel.

Mrs Martin nodded to him. “You need not wait,” she said; “I am going to stay with the child.” And she produced a pair of scissors and scraps of paper, and cut out tables and chairs and all sorts of odd things. One morning, when Lazarus carried Batesia on deck, she saw a tall lady coming towards her, holding a child by

the hand. Her arm was stretched out at full length, for he was skipping and jumping like a kid at the end of its tether.

Batesia’s little heart pattered wildly. This beaufiful boy must be Eprinchie!

He was dressed in a white sailor suit, and his golden curls fell over the square collar. His cheeks were pink, and his eyes shone. Oh! he was many times more beautiful than her Eprinchie left behind in a box. This was the real one.

Whilst she was looking at him he caught sight of her. and wheeling suddenly right in front of his mother asked in an audible whisper who that little girl was? “I don’t know, darling.’’ his mother replied; “but I am afraid she is ill. Shall we go and see?”

He lost no time, and went off without waiting, and said: “How do you do? I am sorry you are ill. Where do you come fwom?”

Batesia panted a little, “Folum Madras, your honour.” “I coma fwom Egypt,” he went on, making conversation, “and I have widden a tamcl. Have you widden a tamel i”

“No-a,” . Batesia answered, humbly. Lazarus interposed: "This little female child, Tamil child, onalee daughter of rich man.”

Humphrey did not understand; he continued: “Joseph went to Egypt, so did Moses and me and Mum.”

"Moses is dead,” Batesia murmured, glad to know something. “Everyone is dead in the Old Testamin,” Humphrey said, with an air of superior knowledge. He was indeed a Prince. Then Batesia ventured to say: “Perlease, your honour, is the gereat Equeen you gereat mother, sitting in black chair in this ship?” Humphrey was puzzled. Lazarus explained. “This amusing little lady thinking that your honour’s parent is the great Queen.”

Humphrey showed all hie little whit* teeth laughing. “Do you weally fink I am the Pwinee of Wales? You silly little girl! He is a gwon up man righty! twenty! tea years old! lam sits! and my name is Humfy Mawylands.” At this climax Lady Marylands earns up.

“She finks 1 am the Pwince of Walee,” cried Humphrey, pulling his mother’s gown.

“Never mind.” she replied, trying to repress him. Then she spoke to Batesia.

“You dear little thing. I am afraid you are ill. Are you going to England?”

“I want to see the gereat Equeen,” Batesia replied, pathetically: her voice trembled, for the excitement had upset her.

“And why do you want to sec her?” Lady Marylands asked.

Batesia’s face assumed a look of strange fixity, the scene that her baby mind had arranged came clearly before her.

“First the peons and the horses, then the gereat Equeen in big carriage. What for that little child there, gereat Equeen asking. Then I saying—O gereat EQueen! look upon poor little subject, evil woman curlursing my bones! gereat Equeen blessing making well. Ev*er pa ray.” The wailing child’s voice brought tears into Lady Maryland’s eyes. She knelt down and kissed th* little clasped hands. She did not understand what the trouble was, and could only caress her.

Then Soomasoondrum came, sleek and shining from the hands of a barber, and explained everything to Lady Marylands. standing a little away from the children.

Humphrey, who had been carefully listening to Batesia, questioned her on the subject. “Were you pwaying to false gods?” “No-a!” she replied, reproachfully,

*1 do not pa ray to false gods. I was paraying to the gereat Equeen to make little subject weH. That is why going to Englands.’’ “You should pway to God,” Humphry said, solemnly; “He can hear you anywhere, ever so far off, in Injah even! But, of course, the Queen ean ,nlv hear you when you go twite close? Batesia had her reason for going to England, “God putting gereat Equeen on fronie to listen to foor subjects”; and that sounded right enough to Hum--1 Those were happy days for Batesia with the white sailor boy taking care of her- He had a tender heart, full of chivalry for the helpless little girl. Besides, he found she was an excellent listener. and she never “contradiekied” him as his sister at home dared to do. Batesia admired all that he said and did, and when on Sunday he pulled off his hat devoutly and sang hymns, she thought that if he were not the Prince he was at all events very like an angel. She knew, however, that angels never wore trousers. The missionary’s wife had plenty of their pictures, and they were dressed quite differently. The weather became very disagreeable, and there was a storm which upset everything—Soomasoondrum most of all — and it grew intensely cold. But one afternoon, when the sea was smoother, Lazarus carried Batesia up on deck to stav for a short time. Humphrey, with very pink cheeks, ran to welcome her. He said:

"What do you fink? Your Ho watt Bore is my uncle George! Isn’t that fummie? I bemember him twite well. He shot with a gun. I yooked at him. '.Aren’t you glad you are earning to us? I am. You are to stay in the norf lodge, the Taptain says he would like to live there. I wish you could wun about. But never mind! Adie will play with you. She is eight years old and bigger than me! She loves dolls, and perhaps you will have a tea-party.” Only a few hours later the captain went up to Lady Mary lands. He looked Very grave and said bluntly: “There is bad news. The Queen is dead.” “Dead!” repeated Lady Marylands, “oh! are you quite suFe?” He nodded, and gave her a paper that the pilot had brought, and passed on without speaking.

Soomasoondrum was on deck when he heard the news—his thoughts flew to his little one. Here was an end to all their hope. He staggered to a seat breathing heavily. “The pdr Rindo’s took bad,” a Bailor told the steward as he hurried by; and the steward, full of sympathy, went to see to him- Everyone knew the reason of the Mudaliyar’s journey. Lady Marylands also thought of Batesia—little Batesia with her one idea. She went down and knocked at the

cabin door. Rungamma opened it softly. “The child has fever,” she said, "talking, sleeping, talking.” Then Lady Marylands drew her away and broke the news.

“Ail Ai! Ail” was all Rungamma could say, and Lady Marylands found it very difficult to go on speaking. “You must not tell the little one yet,” she said, “keep her down here, and the children can tell her when we are at Marylands, they will do it best.” As she spoke she placed her hand affectionately upon Rnngamma’s shoulder, and after a little pause said: “There remains our gracious Princess. The new—new Queen.” But when the time came for going on shore Batesia was still feverish, and the doctor advised her staying the night at Southampton. He told the. Mudaliyar of a little inn close to the station kept by some people he knew- “You will find them very obliging,” he said, and so they were. Betesia was carried to a comfortable bedroom where a good fire was burning in a large old-fashioned grate. The warmth cheered her as she lay in the midst of blankets. Lazarus went to fetch some eoffee, and Rungamma began to unpack her curious bundles. Presently a rosy-cheeked chambermaid hurried into the room. “Would you like some hot water?” she asked; “and is there anything I can do for you?” Then she caught sight of Batesia. “Well, I never!” she exclaimed, “you are a picture! a regular little heastern princess! You have never been in England before, have you, dearie? And to think of your coming at such a time, with our good Queen lying dead-” Rungamma sprang up from her unpacking and signed silence. Her face was wild with emotion. It amazed the chambermaid.

“Heathen nations have odd manners,” she thought, and she left the room, feeling hurt. At the door she met Soomasoondrum who had eome cautiously upstairs rather breathless. He went in and sat down by the fire. The Queen was dead.” Ths little one seemed to be asleep.

Rungamma stood by the bedside. A gilt dock ticked noisily on the chimney-piece, and Soomasoondrum began to doze. Then all of a sudden Batesia opened her eyes. “O my father! my mother!” she cried, “the great Equeen is calling.” As she spoke the sweet slip of a child jumped up in the bed. Her head was thrown back, her arms were outstretched, and she seemed about to fly. Soomasoondrum was only just in time to catch her. George Howard had been away from Rajahram upon short leave. He was now finishing it off at Madras, where

he had come to meet a cousin who was to arrive that day from England. Whilst be ate his breakfast at the club, he read a letter which he had just received from Dr. Filiben. It was all about the poor little email wee child, and had evidently been written in a hurry.

“Dear Apollo,—My old friend Goodgame has been staying here, and I have told him about little Batesia. He says it is without doubt a pure case of hypnotism. the clearest he has ever met with, and he is a big man on the subject.

“Hypnotisation by the excitement of the sense of sight” (the old scarecrow’s sudden and awful appearance). “By excitement of the sense of hearing.” (Curses seem to have been Cheeru’s great speciality, the child dwelt upon the cursing of her bones.) “And also hypnotisation by the operator’s personality.” (which was everything ft ought not to be)- And the poor little small child had heard sueh fearful tales of the old woman's ghastly powers, that her tender young mind contributed to the success of the action. The wonder is that the child has not been killed by the strain, but now that tl\e old witch is no more, I hope and trust it will al! eome right“In hot, verv hot haste, yours, “P. FILIBEN.” Howard put the letter in his pocket- “ Good old Filiben,” he thought, “he has a warm heart as well; what he writes is very curious. “Poor little Barley Sugar! I hope she is skipping about at Marylands by this time.’’ Then he drove down to the landingplace, and almost the first person he saw was Soomasoondrum Mudaliyar. Soomasoondrum. grown old, with stooping shoulders and shuffling step. A woman with a shawl drawn over her face followed him. Lazarus, looking hideous in a black turban, was elose by. Howard went up to them. “What! back again so soon Mudali?” he said; “ami how—”

Then he stopped, for he suddenly understood.

Soomasoondrum began to answer, but his voice was high and weak, and no words would come. Lazarus gesticulated from behind.

Little Barley Sugar! Howard forgot his cousin, and walked with his head bent by the Mudaliyar’s side. He asked no questions, but Lazarus eame near and explained to him. “Dying after Queen —first hearing news.”

Howard made no answer; then he rementioned something, “Cheeru died at that time”—he spoke as if to himself. Soomasoondrum looked at him in a dull, dazed wav.

“She was killed by lightning,” Howard added.

Soomasoondrum flung up his arms. “My enemy is dead,” he cried in a harsh, exulting voice; “the child hath won her ease, the Queen judging.” His eyes flashed. He straightened his back and walked on proudly. Rungamma followed with her face hidden.

—Anne, in the “Cornhill Magazine.”