“No, that was not magic. It was only to see if there was—a flaw in a jewel. Sometimes very fine jewels will fly all to pieces if a man holds them in his hand, and knows the proper way. That is why one must be careful before one sets them. Tell me, did you see the shape of the pot?”
“For a little time. It began to grow like a flower from the ground.”
“And then what did you do? I mean, how did you think?”
“Oah! I knew it was broken, and so, I think, that was what I thought—and it was broken.”
“Hm! Has anyone ever done that same sort of magic to you before?”
“If it was,” said Kim “do you think I should let it again? I should run away.”
“And now you are not afraid—eh?”
“Not now.”
Lurgan Sahib looked at him more closely than ever. “I shall ask Mahbub Ali—not now, but some day later,” he muttered. “I am pleased with you—yes; and I am pleased with you—no. You are the first that ever saved himself. I wish I knew what it was that ... But you are right. You should not tell that—not even to me.”
He turned into the dusky gloom of the shop, and sat down at the table, rubbing his hands softly. A small, husky sob came from behind a pile of carpets. It was the Hindu child obediently facing towards the wall. His thin shoulders worked with grief.