The weight of the water-skin must have been great at first, but it grew lighter as the man went on; and one moment I was thinking of what strength there was in his thin sinewy legs and arms, the next of the clever way in which the pattern was formed upon the pavement, and lastly of what a clumsy mode it was of watering the place, and how much pleasanter it would be if there were greater power in the fountain, and it sent up a great spray to come curving over like the branches of a weeping-willow. And by that time the skin was empty, hanging flaccid and collapsed upon the bheestie’s back, as he went slowly out by the guarded gate, still bent down as if the load was heavy even yet. “What a life for a man!” I thought, as, yawning again—I yawned very much during those hot days—I went slowly into the next room and felt startled, for just in front of the window lay a little packet, one which had evidently been thrown in, and it was that which had made the noise when it fell.
It was hard work to refrain from stooping to pick up what I felt almost sure was a message of some kind, but I dared not for fear of being seen. There were curtains over every door, and I never knew but one of the native servants might be behind it; and after what Salaman had said about the safety of his head if he talked, I felt sure that the reason why the rajah’s servants were so watchful was that they feared danger to themselves if they were not careful of my safety.
However, there was the little packet waiting—just a little packet not much larger than a seidlitz-powder, tied up with grass; and, beginning to walk up and down the room, I contrived to give it a kick now and then, till at last I sent it right into the purdah which hung in front of my chamber.
This done, I went to the window, looked out, saw that the two bheesties were back watering the court again, the former sprinkling having nearly dried up; and then, turning, I walked right into my room, let the curtain fall back, to find, to my vexation, that the packet was still outside; but by kneeling down and passing my hand under, I was able to secure it, though I trembled all the while for fear my hand should have been seen.
For fear of this, I thrust the packet into my breast, and lay down on my couch, listening. All was still, so I took out the packet quickly, noting that it was slightly heavy, but I attributed this to a stone put in with a note to make it easy for throwing in at the window.
“Oh!” I ejaculated, as my trembling fingers undid the string, “if this is another of Dost’s letters!”
But it was not, and there was no scrap of writing inside the dirty piece of paper. Instead, there was another tiny packet, and something rolled in a scrap of paper.
I opened this first, and found a piece of steel about an inch and a half long, and after staring at it for a few moments, I thrust it into my pocket, and began to open the tiny packet which evidently contained some kind of seed.
“Not meant for me,” I said to myself, sadly, as I opened the stiff paper, and—
I lay there staring at the fine black seed, and ended by moistening a finger, and taking up a grain to apply to my tongue.