Presently he began to whistle on a little pipe or flute. "Look," whispered Nao, as a snake's head pushed up the lid of the basket and crept slowly out. Then another and another followed, until several snakes were crawling and wriggling around in the dust, all keeping time to the music of the flute. Soon the snakes began to climb and crawl all over the man, winding themselves around his neck and arms to the great delight of the children. Finally one of the snakes wound itself around the man's neck; and one around each arm; after which the man piped them back into their basket.
Then he spread the handkerchief on the ground, which was a sign for the children to pay for the show. This was enough to send most of the children flying away; for, though they had enjoyed the performance, many of them were not willing to pay for it. Both Chola and Nao, however, threw some cowrie shells on the handkerchief before they left.
"May good luck attend thee, my little masters," said the snake-charmer with a deep salaam. Then he picked up his basket again and went piping down the street to find another audience.
"Thou hast on thy yellow dress. Hast thou been to the temple?" asked Nao, as he and Chola came back into the garden.
"No, I wait for Mahala. Where can he be?" said Chola, running back into the courtyard.
Mahala was there, busily washing out the inkstand which he always carried to school, while Shriya hung out of one of the zenana windows talking to him.
"I cleaned my inkstand yesterday, oh, tardy one!" exclaimed Chola.
"Mine, too, is ready," said Mahala, giving it a final polish as he spoke. "Now we will be off."
To-day was the great holiday for the children. It was the festival of Sarasvati, the Hindu Goddess of Learning, who is supposed to be the especial guardian of children.
The boys were going to the temple to lay their inkstands before the queer image of the Goddess of Learning, as was the custom on this holiday festival.