The child nodded resolutely. 'Yea, I do play. Perlay-ball. Ow-at!
Ran, ran, ran! I know it all.'
'But thou must not forget with all this to pray to the Gods according to custom,' said Gobind, who did not altogether approve of cricket and Western innovations.
'I do not forget,' said the child in a hushed voice.
'Also to give reverence to thy teacher, and'—
Gobind's voice softened—'to abstain from pulling holy men by the beard, little badling. Eh, eh, eh?'
The child's face was altogether hidden in the great white beard, and it began to whimper till Gobind soothed it as children are soothed all the world over, with the promise of a story.
'I did not think to frighten thee, senseless little one. Look up! Am I angry? Aré, aré, aré! Shall I weep too, and of our tears make a great pond and drown us both, and then thy father will never get well, lacking thee to pull his beard? Peace, peace, and I will tell thee of the Gods. Thou hast heard many tales?'
'Very many, father.'
'Now, this is a new one, which thou hast not heard. Long and long ago when the Gods walked with men, as they do to-day, but that we have not faith to see, Shiv, the greatest of Gods, and Parbati his wife, were walking in the garden of a temple.'
'Which temple? That in the Nandgaon ward?' said the child.