"Only the actions of the just,
Smell sweet and blossom in the dust."
[LITTLE HENRY AND HIS BEARER]
CHAPTER I
When I was a child I wept over a story--if I remember right, by Mrs. Sherwood--which bore this title.
Years after I came to man's estate, I felt inclined to weep over an incident in real life which this title seemed to fit.
Looking back on those first tears, I judge them uncalled for by what my maturer age condemns as false sentiment. Perhaps my later emotion is equally at fault. The reader had better judge for himself.
* * * * *
"Speak on, O Bisrâm, bearer! Wherefore dost not obey? Speak on about Mai Kâli and the Noose--the Noose that is so soft, that never slips. Wherefore dost not speak, son of an owl?"
The voice was childish, fretful. So was the listless little figure in a flannel dressing-gown, which lay half upon the reed mat spread on the verandah floor, half against the red and yellow livery coat of Bisrâm, bearer. The latter remained silent, his dark eyes fixed deprecatingly on a taller figure within earshot. It was the child's mother, standing for a glance at her darling.
"Speak! Why dost not speak, base-born child of pigs? Lo! I will smite thee. Speak of Mai Kâli and the Noose. Lo! Bisrâm, bearer, be not unkind. Remember I am sick. Show me the Noose. Ai! Bisra! show it to Sonny Baba."