Mrs. Strickland shuddered, for she had been trying not to think of the separation that follows motherhood in India, and makes life there, for all that is written to the contrary, not quite the most desirable thing in the world. Adam trotted out to hear about more miracles, and his nurse must have worried him beyond bounds, for she came back weeping, saying that Adam Baba was in danger of being eaten alive by wild horses.
As a matter of fact, he had shaken off Juma by bolting between a couple of picketed horses and lying down under their bellies. That they were personal friends of his, Juma did not understand, nor Strickland either. Adam was settled at ease when his father arrived, breathless and white, and the stallions put back their ears and squealed.
"If you come here," said Adam, "they will hit you kicks. Tell
Juma I have eaten my rice and wish to be alone."
"Come out at once," said Strickland, for the horses were beginning to paw violently.
"Why should I obey Juma's order? She is afraid of horses."
"It is not Juma's order. It is mine. Obey!"
"Ho!" said Adam, "Juma did not tell me that." And he crawled out on all fours among the shod feet. Mrs. Strickland was crying bitterly with fear and excitement, and as a sacrifice to the home gods Adam had to be whipped. He said with perfect justice: "There was no order that I should not sit with the horses, and they are my horses. Why is there this tamasha?"
Strickland's face showed him that the whipping was coming, and the child turned white. Mother-like, Mrs. Strickland left the room, but Juma, the foster-mother, stayed to see.
"Am I to be whipped here?" he gasped.
"Of course."