I mentioned this offer at the Bhamo Club, when a civilian present at once offered me 50 rupees for the pony; he did not know the pony, he explained, but--he knew Roberts.
In a steamer of the Irrawaddy Flotilla Company I came down the river from Bhamo to Mandalay.

When I left the Commissioner's bungalow, the entire staff of the establishment and of some neighbouring bungalows assembled to do me honour, creeping up to me, and with deep humility carrying each an article of my possessions from my room down to the porch.

There were the _dhobie_ and _bearer_, the waterman with his goatskin waterbag, the washerman who washed my blue Chinese garments as white as his own, the _syce_ who did not collect grass, the cook who sent me ten bad eggs in three days, and the Christian Madrasi, the laziest rascal in Bhamo, who early confessed to me his change of faith and the transformation it had effected in the future prospects of his soul.

There was the Burmese watchman, and the English-speaking Burmese clerk, and the coolie who went to the bazaar for me, and many others.
They lined the stairs as I came out, and placed their hands reverently to their foreheads when I passed by.

It was pleasant to see such disinterested evidence of their good will, and my only regret was that I could not reward them according to their deserts.