Six months passed before I set foot on Indian soil again, and then fate and a restless Government sent me to a new station. When my servants arrived with my baggage from the old one, I naturally fell to asking questions. "And how is Heera Nund?" was one. My bearer smiled benignly. "Huzoor, he is well--in the month of July he was hanged."
"Bearer!"
"Without doubt; it was in the month of July. He killed his wife with an axe. Dhropudi was bitten by a snake while she slept one day when Heera had to leave her with her mother; and that night he killed his wife as she slept also. It was a mistake to be so revengeful, for every one knew Dhropudi was not really his daughter."
"Do you think that Heera knew?"
"She told him when the child died, in order to stop his grief; but it did not. She was very kind to him,--after the other one went to prison for lurking about."
"And did no one tell about it all?"
"About what, Huzoor?"
"About the vegetables, and Dhropudi, and the sootullians, and the blisters on the back of his head! Did no one say the man was mad?"
"There was a new assistant at the Dispensary, sahib, and her people were very rich; besides, Heera was not mad at all. He did it on purpose. He was a bad man, and the Sirkâr did right to hang him--in July."
But as I turned away I could think of nothing but that can-can among the sootullians, with little Dhropudi beating time with a carrot.