Circuit House, Lakserai, Jan 31.

This letter must begin in pencil, for Boggley has the only pen.  By the bye, would you mind keeping my letters till I get home?  I think it might be amusing to read them when my cold weather in India is a thing of the past.

Behold us on the first stage of our wanderings!

We left Takai on Wednesday, I in my old friend the doolie, Boggley on his bicycle.  It is wonderful where a bicycle can go in India.

I was much sorrier to leave Takai than I thought I should be, and I think they were a little sorry to see me go.  Even the missionary ladies unbent so far as to say they would miss my bright face and merry chatter.  How differently people describe things!  Bright and merry are hardly the adjectives I should have applied to my soulful countenance and brilliant conversation; but no matter.  They all stood on the verandah to watch us go.  Mrs. Russel, dear woman, was obviously sincerely sorry for anyone leaving such a delectable spot as Takai; and indeed there are many worse places.  The boys grinned benignly, each hopping on one foot.  Robert, looking rather like a toadstool with his topi and thin legs, said, “I’m going to Scotland soon, and I’m not coming back to India till I have a long beard.”

Just as we were starting, an object hurtled through the air and fell at my feet, and Jean’s voice explained, “It is Topsy, Olivia; you may have her”; then, self-sacrificing but heart-broken, she buried her head in her mother’s lap.  I am rather “tear-minded,” as our old nurse used to say, at any time, and I saw things through a mist for the first mile or two.

It didn’t seem nearly such a long way going to the station as coming from it, but Boggley on his bicycle was there long before me and my doolie men.  We got a train to wherever we were going to about five o’clock.  I had some sandwiches with me, and we got tea handed in at a station.  It tasted of musty straw, and Boggley said the milk wasn’t safe, but the cups made up for everything.  Boggley’s bore the legend Forget-me-not, and mine A present for a good girl in gilt letters.  About eight o’clock we came to another station—­it is quite impossible to remember their ridiculous names—­and got out.  It was quite an important station, and the large refreshment-room had a long table set for dinner.  Lining the walls of the room were tall glass cases filled with tinned meats, jam, biscuits, and other eatables, for in the Mofussil provisions are bought at the railway stations.  After dinner Boggley produced a pencil and sheet of paper.  “Now,” he said, “we must make a list of provisions wanted.”  So we sat on the table and laid our heads together.

“We’ll begin with necessaries,” said Boggley “Butter.”

“Jam,” I added, “and cheese.”

These being put down, we couldn’t think of another single thing.

“Go on,” said Boggley, biting his pencil “That can’t be all.”