“In the banyan-tree behind the house, high up, in the top branches.”
“It’s wild cats,” said Theo.
“It’s not wild cats, sahib,” the maid insisted. “Come, come! As if Oorip didn’t know how wild cats mew! Kriow, kriow: that’s how they go. What we hear every night is the ghosts. It’s the little children crying in the trees. The souls of the little children, crying in the trees.”
“It’s the wind, Oorip.”
“Come, come, mem-sahib: as if Oorip couldn’t hear the wind! Boo-ooh: that’s how the wind goes; and then the branches move. But this is the little children, moaning in the top boughs; and the branches don’t move then. This is a bad omen, mem-sahib.”
“And why should it be a bad omen?”
“Oorip knows but dares not tell. The mem-sahib is sure to be angry.”
“Come, Oorip, tell me.”
“It’s because of the excellency, sahib, because of the residèn.”
“Why?”