Bit by bit, disconnectedly, each tale called up by some wayside thing, he spoke of all his wanderings up and down Hind; till Kim, who had loved him without reason, now loved him for fifty good reasons.

So they enjoyed themselves in high felicity, abstaining, as the Rule demands, from evil words, covetous desires; not over-eating, not lying on high beds, nor wearing rich clothes.

Their stomachs told them the time, and the people brought them their food, as the saying is.

They were lords of the villages of Aminabad, Sahaigunge, Akrola of the Ford, and little Phulesa, where Kim gave the soulless woman a blessing.
But news travels fast in India, and too soon shuffled across the crop-land, bearing a basket of fruits with a box of Kabul grapes and gilt oranges, a white-whiskered servitor--a lean, dry Oorya--begging them to bring the honour of their presence to his mistress, distressed in her mind that the lama had neglected her so long.
'Now do I remember'-- the lama spoke as though it were a wholly new proposition.

'She is virtuous, but an inordinate talker.' Kim was sitting on the edge of a cow's manger, telling stories to a village smith's children.
'She will only ask for another son for her daughter.