Mother. One sees as he writes! He would have made a great priest, this son of ours. So they pray over their dead, out yonder, those foreigners?
Father. Even a Kafir may pray, but—they are manifestly Kafirs or they would not pray in a grave-yard. Go on!
Son. "When their prayers were done, our Havildar-Major, who is orthodox, recited the appropriate verse from the Koran, and cast a little mud into the grave. The Imam of the village then embraced him. I do not know if this is the custom. The French weep very little. The French women are small-handed and small-footed. They bear themselves in walking as though they were of birth and descent. They commune with themselves, walking up and down. Their lips move. This is on account of their dead. They are never abashed or at a loss for words. They forget nothing. Nothing either do they forgive."
Mother. Good. Very good. That is the right honour.
Son. Listen! He says: "Each village keeps a written account of all that the enemy has done against it. If a life—a life, whether it be man or priest, or hostage, or woman or babe. Every horn driven off; and every feather; all bricks and tiles broken, all things burned, and their price, are written in the account. The shames and the insults are also written. There is no price set against them."
Father. This is without flaw! This is a people! There is never any price for shame offered. And they write it all down. Marvellous!
Son. Yes. He says: "Each village keeps its own tally and all tallies go to their Government to be filed. The whole of the country of France is in one great account against the enemy—for the loss, for the lives, and for the shames done. It has been kept from the first. The women keep it with the men. All French women read, write, and cast accounts from youth. By this they are able to keep the great account against the enemy. I think that it is good that our girls should get schooling like this. Then we shall have no more confusion in our accounts. It is only to add up the sums lost and the lives. We should teach our girls. We are fools compared with these people."
Mother. But a Pathani girl remembers without all this book-work. It is waste. Who of any decent descent ever forgot a blood-debt? He must be sickening for illness to write thus.
Father. One should not forget. Yet we depend on songs and tales. It is more secure—certainly, it is more business-like—that a written account should be kept. Since it is the men who must pay off the debt, why should not the women keep it?
Mother. They can keep tally on a stick or a distaff. It is unnecessary for a girl to scribble in books. They never come to good ends. They end by——