In front of one door a Hindoo servant was squatting, waiting for his master to call him.

He had polished the yellow shoes and placed them by the door, and now he had nothing to do but wait.

It was freezing cold, but there he was, as motionless as a sculptured image, and as patient.

It troubled me.

I wanted to say to him, "Don't crouch there like that and freeze; nobody requires it of you; stir around and get warm." But I hadn't the words.