"Now, Richard, you have talked too much," interposed Mrs. Beamish, who had entered in her noiseless slippers. "Your voice is as weak as a thread, come away: Captain Mallender will give you a pull up—it's long past the time for your midday sleep, and you've never touched your bread and milk, you bad old man!"
CHAPTER XXIV
"Tom and I are going to take you round the place this afternoon," announced Tara. "We want to show you the old remains; afterwards we will go through the native city, and bazaar, and wind up with tennis. How will that be?"
"Quite a gay programme, I do declare!" replied Mallender.
"Yes, and to-morrow you shall see the country. Can you ride?"
"Rather!" was his prompt answer.
"Oh, I'm glad you say 'rather' in that tone,—for Sepoy, the new brown, is a hard puller."
"I prefer a hard puller. Gives you something to hold on to," rejoined the new-comer with a laugh.
As soon as the sun began to slant a little towards the west, Mallender set out on a tour of inspection, escorted by his two companions. First, they came to the officers' bungalows; of these, many of the roofs had fallen in, the gardens were a high jungle of tall grasses, custard apples, and guava trees; the only signs of a human abode were the tottering gate piers,—still sentries to a dead home—and the outline of a long-choked well. Before the most obliterated, Tom halted and said: