THE Brownes had left the sunset behind them red upon the heights when they reached Futtehpore, but there was still light enough for them to descry a white horse from afar, browsing in the compound, and they looked at each other in unaffected melancholy, saying, “They’re here.” If they wanted further evidence they had it in the person of the khansamah, who ran forth wagging his beard, and exclaiming that there was no room—how should there be any room for these Presences from without, when two Engineer-sahibs had already come! Among his other duties one Engineer-sahib had to report the shortcomings of this khansamah. Should it be written among them that the Engineer-sahib was rendered uncomfortable in his own house! Ah, that the Presence could be persuaded that there was another bungalow five miles further on, which the Presence knew perfectly well there was not.

“Khansamah,” replied young Browne, “two sahibs do not require four apartments and all the beds. Go and make it right; and, look you, bring a long chair for the memsahib that thy back be not smitten,” for by this time the heart of George Browne, of Macintyre and Macintyre’s, Calcutta, had waxed hot within him by reason of Royal Engineers.

The khansamah returned presently and announced that the Presences might have beds, but a long chair—here the khansamah held his back well behind him that it should not be smitten—he could not give, for the burra Engineer-sahib sat upon the one, and the chota Engineer-sahib sat upon the other. Yes, they could have something to eat, when the Engineer-sahibs had dined; but there would not be time to prepare it before—the Engineer-sahibs had commanded dinner in one hour. He would see if a fire was possible—it might be that the Engineer-sahibs required all the dry wood. It was presently obvious that they did, and as young Browne and Kasi struggled unavailingly with an armful of green sari and a year-old copy of the Overland Mail, that gentleman might have been overheard to remark roundly in the smoke and the gloom, “Damn the Engineer-sahibs!”

Next morning the white horse was still in the stable when young Browne stepped out upon the veranda, and the Royal Engineer stood there smoking with his hands in his pockets, his legs describing a Royal Engineering angle. He said “Morning!” with a certain affability to young Browne, who made a lukewarm response.

“Think of getting on to-day?” inquired the R. E.

“Oh, yes,” Mr. Browne replied. “We must. We’re due at Saharanpore Friday.”

“Aw! same with us. Bagshiabag to-day, Kalsia to-morrow, Saharanpore Friday.”

“Exactly our programme,” said young Browne with firmness.

“Aw! Hown’ for’tchnit!”

“Is it?”

“Well, yes, rather. Y’see it was all right at Saia, and it’s all right here, but at Kalsia there’ll be Mrs. Prinny of the 97th, and Mrs. Prinny’s got baby, and baby’s got nurse. That’ll be rather tight, waoun’t it?” and the Royal Engineer removed a cigar ash from his pyjamas.

“Now if either of us should push on to Kalsia to-day,” he continued insinuatingly.

There was a pause.

“It’s awkward for us, y’see,” continued the R. E., “because we’re fishing.”

“How far is it?”

“’Bout twenty-six miles.”

“H’m! Rather long march for a lady.”

“Oh, yes—it would be long,” responded the Royal Engineer with an irresponsible air, “but then think of that awful nurse an’ baby.”

A quarter of an hour later the Brownes were off again. Crossing a bridge they passed the two Royal Engineers sitting upon one of the buttresses examining their fishing tackle. “We’re going to see if we can manage it,” remarked young Browne. “Good morning.”

The larger and finer of the Royal Engineers looked up. “Aw,” said he, “mustn’t over-do it, y’know.”

“We won’t,” returned young Browne.

As a matter of fact they didn’t. Arrived at Bagshiabag, Mrs. Browne declared herself very nearly dead, the Diagram had been more diagrammatic than usual. She would rest, and “see” if she felt equal to going on.

“I’m blowed if you shall,” said her lord, “not for all the R. E.’s in Asia.” So they peacefully put up in their choice of ends this time, and made an impartial division of the furniture, and after tea went for a walk. It was the very last station on the edge of the hills; the plains began at their very feet to roll away into unbroken, illimitable misty distances. Bagshiabag—the King’s garden—the palm-fringed plains that were doubtless fair in the King’s sight. The Brownes looked at them sorrowing; it requires an Oriental imagination to admire the King’s garden from an inside point of view.

“We must start early to-morrow,” said young Browne regretfully. “It will be hot.”

Returning they found the two Royal Engineers refreshing themselves under a mango-tree in the compound, surrounded by everything that appertained to the establishment, and wearing an expression of god-like injury. “We didn’t get on, after all,” said young Browne, as he passed them with what countenance he could. The Royal Engineers looked at him and smiled a rectilinear smile. “No,” they said. It was not much to say, but there was a compulsion in it that awoke the Brownes before daylight next morning and put them in their saddles at sunrise. By ten o’clock the last blue ridge had faded out of the sky-line, by eleven they were in Kalsia—not Kalsi of the Doon—in the midst of a great flatness. The ekka with the tiffin-basket was behind upon the road. They would wait there till it came, and then make up their minds about pushing on to Saharanpore. The lady with the nurse and baby was no fiction; she was coming by dÂk-gharry at three o’clock, the khansamah said. And could the Presence give him any tidings of the Engineer-sahibs who were on the way? He had been in readiness for the Engineer-sahibs these three days. The Presence could give him no tidings whatever of the Engineer-sahibs. He thought very likely they were dead. Numbers of people had died in India in the last three days, and the Presence assuredly did not wish any talk of the Engineer-sahibs. “What is there to eat?” asked the Presence. And if there was only milk and eggs and chupatties—the sahibs generally bringing their own food to this place—then let it be served instantly, to be in readiness when the ekka should appear. And it was served. But the khansamah had lived a great many years upon the earth, and, moreover, he had privately questioned the syce-boys, so that he knew of the coming of the Engineer-sahibs. He knew, too, that it would not be good, either for his temporal or his eternal happiness, that the Engineer-sahibs should find four people and a baby in their house when they arrived. Therefore the khansamah, being full of guile as of years, sent an open-faced one privily to the turning of the lane into the road, who gave word to Kasi and to the ekka-wallah that the sahibs—the Browne sahibs—had gone on to Saharanpore, and they were by no means to tarry at Kalsia, but to hasten on after. Believing this word, Kasi and the ekka-wallah, while the Brownes famished upon the veranda, were drawing ever nearer to Saharanpore.

It is difficult to make a meal of eggs and milk and chupatties, but the Brownes found that it could be done, even when because of anger it is the more indigestible. They found an unexpected and delightful solace, however, afterward in Saharanpore. The place was full of the southward bound, a regiment was on the move, all Mussoorie had emptied itself in dÂk-gharries upon the station. Nevertheless, Kasi the invaluable had intrigued for a room for them, a room that opened upon a veranda, with a lamp in it, and a smoking dinner. Kasi was the more invaluable for being conscience-stricken at having swallowed false talk. And there is no Military Works bungalow in Saharanpore, which is a station built primarily and almost wholly for the use of the general public. The joy of these unregenerate Brownes, therefore, upon seeing a white horse vainly walk up to this veranda and hearing a hungry voice, the voice of the Royal Engineer, vainly inquire for rooms and dinner, was keen and excessive.

“They’ve funked the baby after all!” said young Browne, “thinking we wouldn’t. Now they’ll become acquainted with the emotions of the ordinary travelling public in a congested district. Hope they’ll enjoy ’em as much as we did, Nellie. I’m going to have a bottle of beer.”

And if the Royal Engineer outside in the dark, where it was getting chilly, could be susceptible to a note of triumph, he heard it in the pop of the Pilsener with which on this occasion Mr. George Browne fortified his opinion of Royal Engineers at large.