They crowded round, trying to sell us curios and lumps of rough turquoise. When we asked the price of anything, they replied promptly, "Twenty rupees." We would offer two rupees, and, after a few minutes' bargaining, they took it quite cheerfully, the thing probably not being worth eight annas. I bought a prayer-wheel. It is a round silver thing with a handle rather like a child's rattle, and inside are slips of paper covered with writing. These are the prayers, and at intervals you twirl the wheel round, and the oftener you turn it the more devout you are.
I also purchased some lumps of rough turquoise, though Boggley said they were not a good blue,—too pale,—and was tying them up in my handkerchief when Boggley gripped my arm. "Look!" he said. I looked straight across the valley, "Higher," said Boggley, and I lifted my eyes literally to the skies; and there—"suddenly—behold—beyond"—were the everlasting snows.
All day they stayed with us, and as the sun was setting we climbed to a point of vantage to see the last of them. It has been said they are a snow-white wall barring the whole horizon. They are like a city carved by giants out of eternal ice, a city which lieth four-square. We watched while peak after peak faded into cold greyness; until Kangchenjunga towered, alone, rose-red into the heavens, sublime in its "valorous isolation." Then the light left it too, and we turned and came down from the Hill of God.
We left for Calcutta at noon on Monday, and I had a thoroughly over-eaten, uncomfortable day, all owing to Boggley's forethought. He said as we began breakfast about nine o'clock: "Now eat a good breakfast, for we shall have to leave before lunch, and no man knows when we shall get another meal."
It seemed good common-sense, so I ate an egg and two pieces of toast after I had really finished. That was all very well, but the hotel people thoughtfully provided us with a substantial luncheon before we left. Even then Boggley kept on looking to the future.
"Oh, tuck in," he said. "We shan't get anything more till eight o'clock."
I didn't feel as if I wanted anything ever again, but I hurriedly gobbled some food, and we raced to the station, then sat in the train half an hour before it started.
At the first station we stopped at, the bearer appeared at the carriage window with a breakfast cup of tea and a large "y-sponge-cake," ferreted from no man knows where. He was so pleased with himself that I hadn't the heart to refuse it—so there were three meals that ought to have been spread over the greater part of the day crowded into one morning. I sympathized with the vulture, who
"Eats between his meals,
And that's the reason why
He very, very rarely feels
As well as you and I."
It is never pleasant to come down from the heights, and we had rather a dreary journey to Siliguri.