I waited till my chela was ripe.
Behold him! We go North.

Never again shall I look upon this place of my rest, O people of good will.' 'But I am not a beggar.' The cultivator rose to his feet, clutching the child.
'Be still.

Do not trouble the Holy One,' a priest cried.
'Go,' Kim whispered.

'Meet us again under the big railway bridge, and for the sake of all the Gods of our Punjab, bring food--curry, pulse, cakes fried in fat, and sweetmeats.

Specially sweetmeats.