When he had finished the end of the paddle was better than red-hot--a good cherry-red.
The hairs on his legs were unscorched.

The cotton cloth of which his kilt was made showed not the slightest trace of burning.
As soon as he had sat down the other twelve advanced toward the fire.
Unlike him, they were stark naked.

One by one they walked into the fire and traversed it from end to end with no more sign of nervousness than if they had been utterly unconscious of its existence.

Then they turned around and walked back again.
"Is it the men or the fire ?" King demanded.
"Neither," the Mahatma answered.

"It is simply knowledge.