"The kitchen woman told me that the small master laughed, and the big mistress said 'It is well.'"
"And his excellency? How did he receive the news?"
"He bowed his head and hid his face in his hands. 'It is hard on the boy,' she heard him say, 'and there is no necessity.' My lord, I have orders to go to-morrow morning early for the coffee and rice cakes apportioned to your honour. What can I do? My lord must eat or he will be sick. I am but a slave with no choice but to obey."
He put his hands together as though he prayed forgiveness. Ananda paused before replying.
"Do as you are told," he said at last; and he spoke more gently to the unfortunate outcaste than he had done before. "I can give the food to the crows. They are not troubled with caste scruples," he added bitterly.
"But the young master must not starve," said the pariah, with real concern. "My lord must forgive his worthless servant for speaking. This worm has a plan by which the master shall not starve. To-morrow before it is light I will bring a herdsman with his cow and he shall draw the milk and deliver it into your honour's hand. There are shops in the town where food may be bought in tins. It is well known that people of all castes eat European biscuits in peace without defilement if they open the tins themselves. The master shall buy and open for himself. I will bring charcoal so that the milk may be warmed by your excellency and all will be well."
"Good; let it be so," replied Ananda.
He gave the man no thanks, but there was a softness in his voice that satisfied him. Ananda turned back towards the little room that was to serve as bedroom and sitting-room for the present, a den in which even a dog would have moped and pined. A sound reached his ears causing him to stop. It was a wail of grief such as the women raised on the death of a member of the family. He called to the pariah.
"Who weeps in the house?"
"The big mistress and her women."