"But how," said I, "how are the Feringhees upon us? Have you seen them?"
"No," said Ganesha, "but I have seen their people. A long string of camels have just arrived, with I know not how many red-coated sepoys to guard them—my curse be on them all!"
"And where are they?"
"Why, they are gone into the village. They wanted this ground, but I told them I would not give it up; that the Moonshee was a gentleman of rank, and could not be disturbed, and that there was better ground on the other side of the village."
"Then never fear," said I; "the work must be done immediately. I will go in and give the jhirnee; and if any of those prying rascals the Lascars come about us, you know what to do. But I fear not; the Potail will help us, and Hittah Singh too, and there need be no great noise. My father will have to personate the Moonshee for a while if necessary; but that does not matter."
"Good," said Ganesha; "but be quick, Meer Sahib, I shall be in a torment of apprehension until the whole are fairly under the ground."
I left him, and, carelessly playing with my roomal, again entered the tent. "What is it?" asked the Moonshee.
"Oh, nothing," I replied; "only some Sahib-logues' tents which have arrived. Their servants wanted this ground to encamp on, but, seeing us here, the Lascars have taken them to the other side of the village. The troops will be here early to-morrow."
"That will suit me exactly," said he; "I will stay with them, and bid you gentlemen farewell; but that is no reason why we should be the less merry. I warrant these good fellows have another song or two in store. Have you?" he asked of them.
"A hundred," replied one of them; "but perhaps the next will be rather a noisy one."