I should have been with Yankling Sahib now but for this cursed beegar [the corvee].

Let two men watch below with the guns lest the Sahibs do more foolishness.

I shall not leave this Holy One.' They sat down a little apart from the lama, and, after listening awhile, passed round a water-pipe whose receiver was an old Day and Martin blacking-bottle.

The glow of the red charcoal as it went from hand to hand lit up the narrow, blinking eyes, the high Chinese cheek-bones, and the bull-throats that melted away into the dark duffle folds round the shoulders.

They looked like kobolds from some magic mine--gnomes of the hills in conclave.