Kim by Rudyard Kipling Page A

mother. Thy aunts have never had a nose for seven generations! Thy sister—What Owl’s folly told thee to draw thy carts across the road? A broken wheel? Then take a broken head and put the two together at leisure!’
    The voice and a venomous whip-cracking came out of a pillar of dust fifty yards away, where a cart had broken down. A thin, high Kathiawar mare, with eyes and nostrils aflame, rocketed out of the jam, snorting and wincing as her rider bent her across the road in chase of a shouting man. He was tall and grey-bearded, sitting the almost mad beast as a piece of her, and scientifically lashing his victim between plunges.
    The old man’s face lit with pride. ‘My child!’ said he briefly, and strove to rein the pony’s neck to a fitting arch.
    ‘Am I to be beaten before the police?’ cried the carter. ‘Justice! I will have Justice——’
    ‘Am I to be blocked by a shouting ape who upsets ten thousand sacks under a young horse’s nose? That is the way to ruin a mare.’
    ‘He speaks truth. He speaks truth. But she follows her man close,’ said the old man. The carter ran under the wheels of his cart and thence threatened all sorts of vengeance.
    ‘They are strong men, thy sons,’ said the policeman serenely, picking his teeth.
    The horseman delivered one last vicious cut with his whip and came on at a canter.
    ‘My father!’ He reined back ten yards and dismounted.
    The old man was off his pony in an instant, and they embraced as do father and son in the East.

Chapter 4
Good Luck, she is never a lady,
But the cursedest quean alive,
Tricksy, wincing, and jady—
Kittle to lead or drive.
Greet her—she’s hailing a stranger!
Meet her—she’s busking to leave!
Let her alone for a shrew to the bone
And the hussy comes plucking your sleeve!
    Largesse! Largesse, O Fortune!
    Give or hold at your will.
    If I’ve no care for Fortune,
    Fortune must follow me still!
            — The Wishing Caps
    Then, lowering their voices, they spoke together. Kim came to rest under a tree, but the lama tugged impatiently at his elbow.
    ‘Let us go on. The River is not here.’
    ‘ Hai mai! Have we not walked enough for a little? Our River will not run away. Patience, and he will give us a dole.’
    ‘This,’ said the old soldier suddenly, ‘is the Friend of the Stars. He brought me the news yesterday. Having seen the very man Himself, in a vision, giving orders for the war.’
    ‘Hm!’ said his son, all deep in his broad chest. ‘He came by a bazar-rumour and made profit of it.’
    His father laughed. ‘At least he did not ride to me begging for a new charger, and the Gods know how many rupees. Are thy brothers’ regiments also under orders?’
    ‘I do not know. I took leave and came swiftly to thee in case——’
    ‘In case they ran before thee to beg. O gamblers and spendthrifts all! But thou hast never yet ridden in a charge. A good horse is needed there, truly. A good follower and a good pony also for the marching. Let us see—let us see.’ He thrummed on the pommel.
    ‘This is no place to cast accounts in, my father. Let us go to thy house.’
    ‘At least pay the boy, then: I have no pice with me, and he brought auspicious news. Ho! Friend of all the World, a war is toward as thou hast said.’
    ‘Nay, as I know, the war,’ returned Kim composedly.
    ‘Eh?’ said the lama, fingering his beads, all eager for the road.
    ‘My master does not trouble the Stars for hire. We brought the news—bear witness, we brought the news, and now we go.’ Kim half-crooked his hand at his side.
    The son tossed a silver coin through the sunlight, grumbling something about beggars and jugglers. It was a four-anna piece, and would feed them well for days. The lama, seeing the flash of the metal, droned a blessing.
    ‘Go thy way, Friend of all the World,’ piped the old soldier, wheeling his scrawny mount. ‘For once in all my days I have met a true prophet—who