'Praise the Gods, and boil three in milk; other three in water.

After he has drunk the milk give him this' (it was the half of a quinine pill), 'and wrap him warm.

Give him the water of the other three, and the other half of this white pill when he wakes.

Meantime, here is another brown medicine that he may suck at on the way home.' 'Gods, what wisdom!' said the Kamboh, snatching.
It was as much as Kim could remember of his own treatment in a bout of autumn malaria--if you except the patter that he added to impress the lama.
'Now go! Come again in the morning.' 'But the price--the price,' said the Jat, and threw back his sturdy shoulders.

'My son is my son.