When we reached the parade-ground the scene was still merry and bright, for there Gurkha ladies were massed in their many-coloured saris, chattering for all the world like the parrakeets they resembled.  Dogs barked; pet names were squealed; old men waved their staffs; children clung to the waggons and whooped, and when the cortege finally turned into the hospital compound and I cantered back to the lines I wondered what a London bobby would have made of the heterogeneous traffic that littered the Darrapore Road.  I had to sit tight in office to get level with work that evening, and the mess bugle was dwelling maliciously on its top note when at last I put down my pen.

Then the door opened and with a confederate mysterious air the orderly announced Bahadur Rai. (Heavens!)

“And the Sahib?” the Bahadur was asking in swift Nepalese after a wealth of salutations was over.  “Can but one arm do all this?” waving towards my bulging files.

“One does not want two hands to write with, you know, Bahadur.”

“True.  But the shooting?” he added sadly.

“We’ll have that again too some day.  Great things are done in Vilayat, where I go when peace comes.  And you?  You have done well, Bahadur.”

“Well enough,” he admitted with a trace of pride, Then, after a pause, “The 2nd Battalion starts on service to-morrow, Sahib?”

“Yes.  A few men will be left at the depot—­not those of any use.”

“And Naik Indrase, does he go?”

“No.  The Colonel-Sahib put his name down long ago for station duty.”

“Then I desire leave, your Honour.  I want to visit 2nd Battalion lines.”

“Ah!  Put it off a bit,” I urged weakly.  “It’s rough getting across the nullah, and with that crutch—­”

There was silence.  “Your son?” I began irrelevantly.

“My son does well and grows fast, Allah be praised.  Later he will come to the hills to learn the ways of a gun.  Even now he has the heart of a lion,” added the proud father with a return of the old twinkle in his eyes.  “But of this other matter.  Perhaps the Sahib has heard what the Naik has done?”

“Yes,” I admitted reluctantly.  “I visited your house this morning.  All was in order, and I gave instructions about the roof, which—­”

“It is already repaired,” interrupted the old fellow quickly, “and my mother has arranged all things well within.  But the Naik, Sahib.  It is necessary that I should beat him.  The Sahib has heard—­”

“About Bibi?  Yes.  But he will give her up,” I said confidently.

“Bibi?  He can keep Bibi.  She was ever swift with her tongue and liked not the ways of shikaris.  Yes, he can keep Bibi,” added Bahadur Rai without bitterness.  “But, Sahib”—­and here the little man’s voice rose almost to a scream of indignation—­“that was not the worst.  The Naik must be beaten, and well beaten, for he took, not Bibi alone—­he took my umbrella!”