“There is little news,” he said, at last, and it was not lost on his questioner that the customary phrases of respect were omitted, though he spoke civilly enough.
“Nevertheless, what is it?” demanded Frank. “Has the Mutiny spread thus far, or is it confined to Cawnpore?”
“I know not what you mean,” was the self-contained answer. “In this district we are peaceable people. We look after our crops, even as I am engaged at this moment, and have no concern with what goes on elsewhere.”
“A most worthy and honorable sentiment, and I trust it will avail you when we have hanged all these rebels and we come to inquire into the conduct of your village. I want you to accompany me now and place my orderly and myself on board a boat for Allahabad.”
“That is impossible—sahib—” and the words came reluctantly—“there are no boats on the river these days.”
“Why not?”
“They are all away, carrying grain and hay.”
“What then, are your crops so forward? This one will not be ready for harvesting ere another month.”
“You will not find a budgerow on this side. Perchance they will ferry you across at the village in a small boat, and you will have better accommodation at Fattehpore.”
“Are we opposite Fattehpore?”