The boy's boots were muddy. Dooneea observed this, and with her own little hands cleaned them; and smiling, she asked him for a present, in that tone and manner which the poorest menial in Hindostan adopts when addressing the most haughty superior.
The boy blushed, and looked at me.
"Have you nothing to give her?" said I.
"Nothing," said he; "I gave her my rupee."
"Give her that pretty blue ribbon which is round your neck, and I will give you one like it," said I.
He took the ribbon from his neck and gave it to Dooneea.
Dooneea twisted the ribbon in her hair, and began to weep afresh.
"Do not cry, you silly woman," said I; "I will see that your husband does not beat you again."
She understood me, and dried her tears.