"Nonsense, you silly little goose! You must not give away a keepsake. Do you think I am like those dusky beggars on the hill? My hands are empty enough, ready for work, and I mean to keep them so," retorted Oliver, stretching them out with intense satisfaction to prove the truth of his words.
He did not see her again, for by daybreak the Desboroughs were all en route for home, sweet home.
How happy the children were to see the many-gabled roof once more, embowered as usual in an ever-increasing mass of foliage and flowers, and replete with joyous life in every corner! The owl still sat in the entrance of his hole, blinking benevolently at Kathleen and Horace as they took their first run round the wide, cool veranda hand in hand, just to see if all the old pets were safe. Kites and hoopoes and blue jays were screaming and croaking to their hearts' content.
The ayah called Kathleen to look at her billee, as she called the kitten, which had grown immensely in their absence. Then she lifted up Horace to watch the gitchree, or squirrel, leaping from bough to bough among the garden trees, and to listen to the cooing of the jangalee, or wood-pigeon.
The dark faces of the gardener and the bhisti appeared at unexpected corners, with new treasures they had been saving for the little beebee.
One had tamed a moongus, a cat-like creature as big as a greyhound, and excellent for rats and mice, and equally good for cockroaches and many another insect pest which life in India knows only too much about.
Its soft gray coat and arching back, and all its amusing ways, won a smile from mamma as it ran about the house, sniffing at every new thing, and examining every hole and corner with the greatest curiosity. Finally, it set to work with teeth and claw, and dug itself a subterranean retreat by the door-step, where it could munch its dinner undisturbed by the liberties of its many neighbours. It was so clean, mamma had not a word to say against it. So with that and Kathleen's mina, who was trusted to leave his cage whenever he liked, the children had plenty of amusement, and the first few days at home sped rapidly away.
One evening, when they were returning from their walk, Kathleen with Sailor by her side, and a coolie holding an umbrella over them both, they were hailed by Oliver, who was driving in his uncle's boondee (a hooded gig drawn by two oxen) to the gates of the indigo factory. A long train of native carts, creaking under their load of indigo pulp, were waiting to enter. One ghareewan, or carter, had brought a rumour that a fair child had been seen by some hunters in the jungle. The tale had passed from lip to lip, until it had reached Mr. Desborough, who was pacing his office floor in unwonted agitation.
Oliver sprang out of the chaise and made his way through the press with most unusual energy for India. He entered the labyrinth of straw-thatched sheds, passed the great crushing-mill, which a party of half-dressed men were treading, and got splashed by the dark-blue stream issuing from it. Never mind; on he pressed, inquiring for the sahib. He was almost deafened by the hissing and sputtering of the steam from the huge boiling vat, when he became aware that on all sides the men were rushing from their work, and pointing to a dark reddish cloud that had suddenly appeared in the north.
He could not tell in the least what all this uproar could mean, so he tried to edge his way through the crowd of hideous blue figures who were gesticulating and screaming at their loudest. Then they began to snatch up the stones around them, which they poised in their hands as if prepared to hurl them at the skies. Oliver thought of a riot, and was thankful to perceive Mr. Desborough himself step out from one of the numerous sheds and glance hurriedly around. Just then a stick struck Oliver on the head. He looked round; a second was thrown at him. The men had not sent it, for it came from an opposite direction. He glanced upwards; another was hurled at his back. He did not like that at all. In spite of the agitation visible in Mr. Desborough's manner, he began to laugh as Oliver tried to run from his unseen persecutors, and pointed to the roof of a great shed out of which the busy workers were rushing pell-mell. Oliver looked up, and saw a troop of black-faced monkeys, big fellows three or four feet high, clambering over it. They caught his eye at last, and then the shower was renewed in earnest. He saw their switching tails and grinning teeth. And oh, the chattering and jabbering from five-and-twenty monkeys in a passion was something very tremendous indeed! Oliver gathered up a handful of the sticks which were showered around him, and shied them back again.