# Zodiac Stories/Scorpio

SCORPIO,THE SCORPION
RS FANE sat in the pleasant dining-room at Fanesleigh, reading the morning mail. There were a number of letters, and some of them, as she saw from the hand writing, from people whose letters were always good reading,—but when she glanced at a longish, thin envelope with an Indian stamp on it, she gave an exclamation, and opened it in haste, leaving all the rest to wait. As she read, she kept ejaculating, "Dear me!" "Only think!" "Fancy that!" until her husband remarked, laying down his newspaper, "I would, my dear, if you would explain what I am to think about."
​"Why, it 's the most delightful thing!" replied his wife eagerly; "I was just going to tell you, of course, Harry,—the Winsleigh-Fanes are coming home on leave, and they want to take a house here for the summer, and of course we can't hear of such a thing, with all our spare rooms!"
"So you want to have the lot of them here, niggers and all?" said Mr. Fane.
"All right, Maysie, go ahead!"
At this moment, Bobby, the seven-year old son of the house, who had been listening with growing excitement, spoke:
"Oh, Mamma! Are they niggers, really? And do they wear feathers and beads, and have bows and arrows, and will they be awfully wild, and ——"
"Oh, nonsense, Bobby!" cried his mother. "Don't you understand that your father is joking? The Winsleigh-Fanes are your cousins from India, and what Papa meant is that they will bring their ​Hindu servants with them,—though I hope they wont, I 'm sure," she added, "for I can't bear the creatures; they give me creeps."
"Why?" asked Bobby.
"Oh, I don't know—they do, that 's all!"
"But I want to know why," persisted the boy.
"Oh, hush—you talk too much, Bobs," said his father lazily. "If I had asked your mother to tell me 'why' all through our married life, it would have wasted no end of time!"
"Why?" said Bobby.
"Because she could n't have told me," answered Mr. Fane quietly.
Mrs. Fane blushed.
"I wish you would n't waste time now, talking nonsense," she said, "I want to know what you think Colonel Fane will want to have for dinner; you used to be in India, and you ought to know. And ​what will the child have? There 's another difficulty. I suppose she will eat things I never had to order before!"
"Why?" put in Bobby.
"Bobs, you can go to the nursery," remarked his father without looking at him.
Bobby went, lingeringly, feeling it hard to be banished from the family councils. He was by no means a stupid child, but he had not managed to learn that his incessant asking "why" had something to do with his being sent so much to the nursery.
He was crying when he reached that apartment now, and Nurse looked at him disapprovingly.
"I should think you 'd be ashamed!" she said.
"Well, I are n't," replied Bobby with some spirit; "I did n't do anything!"
"What 's the matter, then?" asked Nurse. "Have you swallowed something the wrong way?"
"No!" shouted Bobby in deep disgust.
​"I did n't swallow anything! It 's just their wanting to have a secret all to themselves, that 's all!"
"If you mean your pa and your ma, Master Bobby, you should speak of them as such. 'They' does n't stand for no more than 'he' or 'she' for a name, as I 'm always telling you."
"I don't care!" growled Bobby.
"'Don't care' was hanged on a cherry-tree," rejoined Nurse calmly.
"Well, let him! I say, what 'll you do when cousin Winsleigh-Fane comes, and his child who eats queer things, and his niggers?"
Nurse turned round from her sewing and looked at Bobby searchingly.
"I should like to know what you mean by that stuff," she said.
"Oh, yes, I thought you would!" cried the boy maliciously. "But you can ask Mamma! I ain't going to tell you any more than that!"
​"You are a naughty boy," Nurse replied, "and you just made up that silliness, as I knew you did."
"I did n't! I truly did n't," asserted Bobby, dismayed by this charge. "Mamma got the letter this morning, and it says Colonel Fane is coming here, and Mamma asked Papa what to get him to eat, and what the child was to eat; and Papa says they are going to bring their niggers, and I asked about it, and asked again, just once or twice—and then they sent me out of the room!"
Nurse did not say anything for a minute. Her busy hands lay idle in her lap, and she gazed blankly out of the window. She no longer doubted Bobby's story, but astonishment kept her silent. Then she began to say a great deal, as is sometimes the way when one is excited.
She said she was not going to stay in any place along with no heathen Indians as did all manner of things a body could n't ​put up with, and never, not to say, washed their-selves; and no lady could expect it of her. Her face grew red, and she fell to folding the clean clothes with a fierce energy, while mischievous Bobby looked on, delighted to have roused her so effectually.
Meanwhile, Mrs. Fane and her husband had arranged their preparations for the reception of their relatives from overseas, and planned the rooms they were to have, the food they would be most likely to require, and the line of conduct to be observed towards the dreaded Hindu servants.
Three weeks after, one sweet June day, a carriage drove up to the door, and deposited on its steps, first, a tall, sunburned gentleman, and then a pretty though tired looking lady, and last of all, a slender, coffee-colored young man, dressed in white, holding in his arms a very pale little girl.
Mr. and Mrs. Fane hurried out with the ​warmest words of welcome, but Bobby, who stood still on the steps, cried in distinct tones,———
"Only one nigger!"
"Bobby, come here and say 'how do you do' to your cousins directly!" called his mother, hoping his speech about the "nigger" had not been noticed. Bobby came forward and held out a hand deeply stained with a variety of tints, he having spent the last half hour in cleaning his paint-box. The Colonel took the hand with a peculiar smile; his wife barely touched it; but the little girl dispensed with all formalities, and kissed Bobby squarely, at which every one laughed.
"Everything in a good beginning," remarked Bobby's father.
"Moti is a genial little creature," Colonel Fane answered, "but awfully spoiled;—at least, I am afraid so. You see, it 's almost inevitable in a hill-station like the one she and Polly have been staying at. ​All the people petted her and talked nonsense to her, till she grew to think the world was made for her. I can't do anything with her, and Polly is hopeless—lets her run perfectly wild, don't you know. The only person who can manage her a bit is Dilâl."
The Colonel glanced towards the young man in white, whose immovable face gave no sign of knowing that he was spoken of.
"Dear me!" said Mrs. Fane, "only fancy now! But here we are standing on the steps as if we could n't go indoors; and dear Polly and this sweet child so tired!"
They all trooped in and the Colonel, his wife and little girl followed their hostess into the cool, shady parlor. Colonel Fane turned and said something to Dilâl in a strange language; and he instantly disappeared.
"Tell me about him," whispered Bobby, ​going up to Moti who had perched herself on a high chair, and was gazing round the room with curious eyes.
"About who?" asked the child, still looking away.
"Why, him! repeated Bobby, pointing in the direction Dilâl had taken.
"There is n't nothing to tell," answered Moti indifferently.
"Yes, there is: who is he?"
"He is my servant!" replied the small person, with a comical toss of her head.
"Your servant? Your very own servant? What does he do?"
"Everything."
"Does he take care of you—is he your nurse?"
Moti nodded.
"I never!" was the boy's comment.
"It's nothing to be surprised about," she said with another toss; "does n't people have them here?"
"Oh, yes, only not black ones; we have ​them white. We don't like black servants. My mamma says niggers give her creeps."
Moti's large eyes flashed.
"My servant is good!" she cried indignantly. "Ever so good! And if your mamma has creeps at him, your mamma is a stupid."
"Why, Moti! what is the matter, dear?" asked her mother anxiously. The passionate tones of the childish voice had reached her ears. Moti rushed to her and burst into tears.
"He is a bad, bad, horrid boy," she cried; "he says Dilâl is a nigger, and that his mamma has creeps!"
The singular nature of this statement made the grown-up people laugh.
Only Mr. and Mrs. Fane understood that their Chatterbox of a son had repeated his mother's speech on the subject of Indian servants, and they exchanged glances of meaning.
"Goto the nursery, Bobby," said his ​father; "it is the best place for boys who cannot behave like gentlemen."
Bobby lifted his voice in a dismal wail.
"Oh, I say, Harry, that's a bit severe. is n't it?" asked the good-natured Colonel.
"Yes, please don't send him away, poor little fellow," begged Cousin Polly, "I am sure he did n't mean to be naughty."
"Reprieved, Bobs!" said his father with a laugh. "If you do it again, though, you will be court-martialled."
The two children stared doubtfully at one another after this. Bobby felt that Moti had transgressed the ethical code of his set in telling tales; Moti felt that he was a very rude boy, and a great disappointment as a cousin. But at their age quarrels are not apt to last, and neither of the children was of a sulky disposition, so, when Bobby softly came nearer and said,—
"Do you like puppies? don't you want to see mine out in the stable?" Moti put ​her tiny hand cosily in his, and said, "Oh, how lovely!"
"Moti is devoted to Dilâl," said her mother, when the children were gone. "And it is no wonder, for he is perfectly devoted to her. We have had him a couple of years, now, and we know that he is absolutely trustworthy. He does everything for Moti that a white nurse could, and, when she had a dangerous illness last winter, he did not sleep for several nights."
"Only fancy!" said Mrs. Fane.
"Yes, Dilâl is a first-rate fellow," Colonel Fane agreed.
"But don't you ever feel nervous about him?" asked Mrs. Fane.
"Nervous?" repeated Cousin Polly a little scornfully, "no, indeed; why should I?"
"Oh, I don't know," answered Mrs. Fane with a little laugh, "only I know I could n't stand having any one with me ​who was n't white. I suppose it is just a prejudice of mine."
"That's all it is, and a very silly one, too," her husband assented; "if you had lived in India as the rest of us have, you would not feel so."
The talk turned on Indian ways and habits, and then in came Moti clapping her hands in delight.
"What do you think, Mamma?" she cried. "I 've been seeing the puppies and the cat and kittens, and Bobby has given me all the kittens, and one puppy;—a black one with tan spots!"
"The hatchet is buried, indeed," remarked Mr. Fane to his cousin, the Colonel.
"My dear Moti, it is time we went upstairs and changed our frocks," said her mother quietly.
The moon was shining peacefully into Bobby's room that night, when he saw a small, white figure come in at the open ​door. Its bare feet made no noise on the carpet, and as it advanced and stood in the moonlight, it had a startlingly unreal look. Bobby, happening to be awake at the moment, but still drowsy, was about to call for Nurse, when the figure spoke.
"Where 's my servant?" it said in a distinct and imperative voice.
"Are you Moti? I was 'fraid of you!" answered Bobby. "What's the matter, and ​why do you go barefoot? Nurse scolds me if I do!"
"Where 's my servant?" repeated the little girl; and receiving no reply from the bewildered Bobby, stamped her tiny foot on the floor.
"Can't you speak?" she went on in an injured tone. "I should think you was deaf!"
"I don't know what you want," said Bobby. "You 're so funny, you know! I think you 'd better go back to bed, or they 'll punish you."
To this friendly warning, Moti paid no attention, but raising her shrill treble, called at its loudest:
"Dilâl! Dilâl! quickly!"
"Now you 've done it!" ejaculated her young cousin, and as the sound of hurrying steps came along the passage, he hid his head under the bedclothes. It was so hot there, however, that he was unable to bear it, and, hearing no sounds of ​scolding or grief, he ventured to look and see what had happened.
In the bright moonbeams stood Dilâl, Moti in his arms. He was talking to her in a soft, low tone, and in a language Bobby did not understand. Presently he carried her out of the room, and Bobby heard the murmur of the two voices in the room which had been arranged for the little girl across the hall. And then he fell asleep.
"What was the matter with you last night?" he asked Moti in confidence after breakfast the following day.
"Nothing, only I could n't go to sleep," replied his cousin.
"Was that why you wanted your servant?"
"Yes, I wanted him to tell me a story to put me to sleep."
"And would he do it?"
"Why, yes, of course!" Moti opened her eyes in wonder at Bobby's question.
​"Would n't your nurse tell you one, if you was n't sleepy?"
Bobby laughed derisively.
"She'd say, 'You are a very naughty boy, and if I don't find that you are asleep when I look in again, I 'll tell your papa!'"
Moti gave the little toss of her head which was a habit with her.
"I 'm glad I have a nicer nurse than your's!" she said.
But Bobby was not ready to admit that this was the case, though he thought his nurse severe in some ways. The children got into an argument which was on the point of becoming a dispute, when Cousin Polly came to the rescue with the delightful news that all the good-tempered people in the family were going to drive. At this, Bobby and Moti first hung their heads, and then laughed, and ran to get dressed.
Before his arrival, Dilâl had been the object of all kinds of surmises on the part ​of the servants at Fanesleigh; but inside a week, he had made them like him, though his lack of English prevented more than a few words of conversation. Cook, who had declared that, "for her part, she was n't going to make up no unwholesome messes for no black heathens," now said that "as for that Mr. Dilâl, he was quite the gentleman, and no trouble at all;" while Nurse, who had hinted that if that sort of person came to live at Fanesleigh, she should be obliged to leave it—now went peacefully forth every day with the tall Hindu walking at her side, their young charges running before. Even the little girl whom helped wash the dishes under Cook told her village friends how interesting it was to hear about India from "that fine, nice-spoken young man," though Dilâl's descriptions of his own country were chiefly answers of one syllable to the servants' curious questions.
​Perhaps the only inmate of the house who did not like Dilâl was Mrs. Fane, who was a person of prejudices, and who continued to have "creeps."
Bobby, who had an admiration for the Hindu, was rather troubled at his mother's feeling, which she took no trouble to hide from him.
On one occasion, when Dilâl accidently brushed against Mrs. Fane's dress in passing, Bobby saw his mother pull it hastily away with an expression of annoyance, and, coming to her, whispered,———
"You still have creeps, don't you, Mamma?"
"Oh, hush, Bobby!" the lady said; "what a child you are!"
But Bobby watched her whenever Dilâl was in the room; he wanted to understand. Another person who noticed Mrs. Fane's aversion to the Hindu, was her husband.
"I really wish, Maysie, you'd try and ​treat that fellow a bit more kindly," Mr. Fane said to her one day.
Bobby was present, but sitting in the window with a book, and not noticed by his parents.
Mrs. Fane laughed.
"Don't I treat him right? Well, I do the best I can; he makes me so nervous, somehow!"
"Nonsense," said Mr. Fane.
"Well, he does. I believe I 'm afraid of him. He is so dark and thin and has such a fierceness under that gentle manner; he always makes me think of a scorpion!"
Little ears are sharp ears; Bobby had heard.
He got up and went softly out of the room, and up to the nursery floor. Dilâl was seated in the room where Moti slept, making a neat darn in one of that small maiden's stockings.
Bobby came across the room and looked ​on in silence for a while. But Bobby was never long silent.
"Why don't Hindu people ever have white faces?" he asked presently.
"I do not know, Bobby sahib." Not a muscle of Dilâl's face moved.
"Do you wish you were white, Dilâl?"
"No, Bobby sahib."
"Why don't you?"
"As the man is made, so is it best for him," was the answer.
"But if you could have chosen, would you have been a Hindu?"
A queer flash came into the dark face.
"I would have been as I am—ay, and no other."
Bobby was still for at least three minutes after this; he had a dim idea that his questions had been too personal. Dilâl kept at his work and never glanced towards him.
"Dilâl, what is a scorpion like?"
"I do not know, Bobby sahib."
​Bobby was disappointed to find Dilâl so uncommunicative. He went away to find Moti, whose little tongue ran as fast as his own. Moti was in the stable, petting her large family of kittens. Bobby sat down beside her and duly admired the soft, mewing, furry things.
"Why wont Dilâl talk?" he asked a length, going back to a grievance in an aggrieved voice.
"He does talk," said Moti, "he talks beautifully!"
"He wont talk to me!"
"You don't know his language," she explained. "What have you been talking about to him? The other day you were rude and asked him a lot of silly questions about why he did n't eat beef and bacon!"
"I was n't rude; I wanted to know why he did n't!"
"Why, of course he can't eat beef on account of the sacred cow; and he hates ​to be bothered about his religion and asked what he does n't do things for!"
Bobby sat still for a minute, pondering this statement. Then he had recourse to his usual question—"Why?"
"Oh, how tiresome it is always to say why!" said Moti impatiently. "My Mamma says you talk too much, and really, you know, you do, Bobby!"
Bobby was offended. He walked over to the place where the puppies were kept, and took them out of their box, and began to play with them, turning his back to Moti, who, on her part, threw herself back on the clean yellow straw of the empty stall where she sat with the cats, and began to talk Hindustani to her favorite white kitten. She talked in the low, crooning tone Dilâl used to her when she could not go to sleep, lifting the kitten over her head, the half-dozen silver bangles on her little arms tinkling as she moved.
Bobby resented having any one talk ​before him in a language he did not understand; Papa and Mamma always talked French before him when they wanted to keep a secret: he had to stand their shutting him out, but he would n't stand it from Moti, who was a year younger than he, and who had no business to put on airs.
"Stop talking that stuff!" he called, with his back still turned to his cousin. Moti paid no sort of heed; she only held the kitten closer and talked on. Bobby felt cross; he was in the mood to pick a quarrel, and he did not try to check it.
"What is that language, anyhow?" he continued, as if to the fat brown puppy on his knee; "it is n't any real language, is it, Fido? It's just fit for duffers like that nigger upstairs!"
Moti's crooning had come to a sudden stop; she had caught a word she hated—a word she never allowed any one to apply to her beloved Dilâl.
​For using it, some of her most devoted Indian friends had been dropped by the loyal little maid,—even a stout captain, who had bought her many boxes of French chocolate.
Bobby saw that he had made an impression, and feeling very naughty indeed, he thought he would make it deeper.
"We don't like niggers do we, Fido? We hate niggers, because they 're like scorpions, my Mamma says, and scorpions are nasty things, Fido; they bite———"
Bobby got no further, for a small hand came sharply against his mischievous mouth with a stinging slap, as Moti, white with anger, flew to his side. She rained slaps on him; and the boy, bewildered at first, rose to his feet, and, holding his left arm as a guard before his face, put out his right hand to push her away. He had no intention of hurting her, for, however teasing and tiresome, Bobby was too manly to strike a girl, but he pushed her from him ​too hard, and, losing her balance, Moti fell. As she fell, her head struck the edge of the wooden box where the puppies were kept, and she uttered a piercing scream. Bobby was terrified at what he had done, and was stooping to her, when Dilâl came swiftly in at the stable door. Bobby never knew exactly what happened after that. He had an impression of a storm passing over him, and leaving him with his ears ringing, and of Dilâl, like a white lightning flash, passing out of the place with the little girl gathered to his breast.
The boy sat stupidly where he had dropped under Dilâl's hand, rubbing his forehead and trying to remember just what had occurred.
Presently, steps came along the yard outside, and the groom came into the stable and began to loose one of the horses.
"What's that for?" asked Bobby with reviving interest in life.
​"The doctor. Little girl's hurt awful, they 're sayin' up at the house." The man looked curiously at Bobby. Bobby's face grew pale.
"If I was some people, I'd get away and keep meself out o' my pa's sight," added the groom with meaning. "I ain't never seen the guv'nor so put out, not as I remember, not since I've been here; and he 's a very easy-put-out gen'leman, too."
Bobby said nothing for a minute; then he asked,—
"Where is my papa?"
"Well, when I come out here, he were a-looking for his riding-whip!" William made answer, with a sly glance.
Bobby got up with a proud straightening of his back, and walked into the yard, and across it, through the kitchen-garden, into the front flower-garden, and towards the house. He met his father striding down the path. Mr. Fane looked very stern, and Bobby knew well enough what ​was in store for him. But he only looked his father in the eyes.
"I was just coming to you, Papa," he said in a voice that rang true, even though it trembled.
"Come in; I have got something to say to you," said his father, turning and leading the way to his private room. When they were inside, Mr. Fane sat down, and Bobby came and stood before him.
They looked at each other in silence, and it seemed as if the father was relieved by what he read in the child's face, for his brow grew smoother.
He flung the riding—whip down.
"Well—what have you to say for yourself, first?" he asked.
"How is Moti?" was the boy's answer.
"Her head is hurt,—how much, we cannot tell till Dr. Moore comes. I am glad to see that you think her state the important thing—not your own punishment!"
​Bobby's brown eyes never faltered as he said,—
"I know you 'll thrash me; that 's all right; you ought to, I suppose; I 'd just like to tell you all about it, though, if you don't mind, before you begin!"
"That 's perfectly fair," said his father; "you heard me tell you to say what you could for yourself. I always know one thing, Bobby,—you 'll give me a straight story of what you 've done; you are no fibber!"
Bobby's square little shoulders grew yet squarer. He plunged into his tale at once.
"You see, Papa, it was this way; I had been talking to her about that fellow Dilâl; and she said I talked too much. And so I got cross, and tried to vex her. I pretended to be talking to the puppy, and I said Dilâl was a nigger, and that he was like a scorpion—" Mr. Fane started and Bobby stopped.
​"What made you think of saying that, Bobby?" asked his father quietly.
"Why, I heard Mamma say it!"
"You were in the room, then? I never noticed you! When will you learn not to repeat what other people say in confidence? Don't you know it is the cause of half the big and little troubles of life—this telling the silly things other people say without thinking? Remember that, and try never to do it again. To repeat what is said before you by persons who would not wish their words repeated is dishonorable!"
"Dishonorable" was a word which Bobby perfectly understood. He grew scarlet.
"Well, go on; what happened then?"
"Oh, I said some more—I said scorpions were nasty, and bit—and then,———"
"And then?"
"Why, she ran and hit me!" Bobby said rather reluctantly.
​"And did my son forget what a gentleman's views are on the subject of hitting back if the other party is a lady?" asked Mr. Fane.
Bobby's reproachful glance reassured his father even before his eager—"Oh, Papa! As if I would strike a girl!"
"But what happened then? Get on, Bobby—don't be so long about it; how did the child get hurt?"
Bobby now hung his head.
"I tried to push her away, and she fell down."
"And hit her head against the wall?"
"No, against the box—the big box the puppies sleep in. I truly did n't mean to hurt poor Moti, Papa! Only, she slapped me so much I had to stop it, and I stopped it too hard!"
Mr. Fane bit his lip.
"Well, Bobby," he said after a few moments, "I am not going to whip you, as you did not strike your cousin; but I ​really can't let you off altogether, for you have behaved very badly, and made a great deal of trouble. You can go to your room and stay there till I send for you."
Bobby hesitated.
"Papa—please—may n't I see her a minute?"
"Moti? No, she is far too ill; no one but her mother and Dilâl are able to see her at present."
"But I want to tell her I'm sorry!" sobbed Bobby, with his fists in his eyes.
"I will have her told as soon as she is fit to hear about anything," said Mr. Fane. "Off with you now! That 's enough!"
But the boy still lingered.
"Don't be vexed with me, Papa,—only, won't you tell me what Dr. Moore says about, her?"
"Yes, Bobby, I will; now, away you go!"
And away he went, crying softly all the ​way. He did not mind being sent to his room, for he was too unhappy to want to play. He threw himself face down on his bed, and cried and cried.
After a long while, he heard-the doctor's carriage drive up to the house, and the doctor's feet come up-stairs. He lay still, listening for any sound from Moti's room; but he heard none. Then—it seemed an age afterwards—he saw the doctor drive away again. He was too nervous to keep still, so he walked restlessly about his room, taking up things and putting them down again. By-and-by the door-handle turned, and his mother appeared. Bobby rushed to her and looked up pitifully in her face. Mrs. Fane sat down and drew him on her knee.
"It's all right, you poor dear," she said gently. "The Doctor says Moti has not hurt her head badly, but that she ought not to have any kind of fright or excitement, because she is a very nervously ​excitable child. She had a fit of hysterics when Dilâl first carried her in—screaming and crying and going on dreadfully! Her mother could do nothing with her. It is a pity to have such a violent temper, and I 'm sure I 'm sorry for poor Polly, but we must just humor the child all we can and not have any more scenes like this one to-day. Your father surprised me by coming and telling me that it was my joke about the man reminding me of a scorpion that made the trouble. What does make you repeat things so? Just see what harm you have done by it!"
Bobby leaned his head against his mother, and cried remorsefully.
"Well, don't fret so," said Mrs. Fane, kissing his hot cheek, "I think Moti will be well again in a day or so, and your father will let you come down—stairs tomorrow. I'll send you up a nice tea, and then you must get to sleep and forget all your troubles."
​Moti was herself again in a day,—sooner even than her aunt had expected; and Bobby was duly reconciled to her, after a humble apology. The whole matter passed from the minds of the family in a week, and, as Moti's birthday fell about this time, it was resolved to give a children's garden-party in her honor. She had the choice of what she liked to order to eat, and promptly decided on strawberry ice-cream, chocolate, macaroons, and frosted pound-cake,—a selection which made the mothers look serious.
"You must n't eat all of those, darling," said her mamma, putting an arm around her waist.
"Not all at once!" Moti agreed; "just a bit of each at a time."
"But, my precious, you would have indigestion that way, even!"
Moti's lip trembled.
"You said I could have exactly what I liked!"
​"Anything but another fit of hysterics!" said Mr. Fane, who stood by. So the dangerous meal was ordered, to the huge delight of both children.
The birthday dawned fair and warm. Moti rapturously opened a number of parcels, and found a doll in one; a lovely toy parasol in another; a box of paints; a fairy-book; a necklace of Indian silver-work; and a trinket-case of beautifully carved sandal-wood from Dilâl. The little girl was radiantly happy, and flew up and down the house like a humming-bird.
The party was to begin at three o'clock, and long before that time the children were ready and impatient for their young friends to arrive.
"Don't you hate your best clothes?" asked Bobby, as they sat on the cool veranda waiting. He twisted his neck stiffly in his clean collar as he spoke, and looked ruefully at his new knickerbockers in which he was forbidden to climb trees. ​Moti cast a fond glance over the soft Indian-silk dress of pale pink, which she was wearing for the first, time, and answered,———
"No, I like them!"
Bobby gave a grunt of disgust.
"I'm jolly glad I'm not a girl!" he said.
"Girls are the best things to be, though," Moti averred. Bobby took up the argument eagerly, and it was growing a little too "keen for good humor, when the three children of the village doctor happily appeared, putting a stop to it.
"I know we are ever so much too early," remarked the doctor's small son, cheerfully, "but I would n't wait any longer. What are we going to eat?"
His two sisters blushed, and the eldest shook her head at him:
But Moti was more than willing to unfold the bill of fare at once.
"We are going to have strawberry ​ice-cream, and hot chocolate, and macaroons, and frosted cake!" she said proudly.
The doctor's son wanted to know when tea was to be ready; but at that moment the grown-up people came down-stairs, and led the way out upon the lawn, where croquet and tennis were to be played. Soon the vicar's children appeared, and after them the little Fosters, and all the other young folk who had received invitations; and a very merry set they were.
The boys ran races, and when the front garden and its lawn was exhausted, Dilâl and the maids brought out tea and laid a charming feast on tiny tables.
To judge from the rapid disappearance of all the good things, Moti's selection was a wise one; but when the doctor's son passed his plate the fifth time for strawberry ice-cream, and the vicar's three-year—old daughter demanded "more dat sugary cake" at the end of her third slice, the parents present exchanged looks ​full of meaning, and wondered what would be the state of these young people later.
It was judged best to sit still a while after so hearty a meal, and a game of questions was proposed, the players to seat themselves in a ring on the grass. Bobby happened to hate this sort of game, and his indulgence in every one of the dainties provided had not depressed his spirits.
He therefore beckoned to the doctor's son, who was a crony of his, and, unobserved by anyone, they stole away, and around to the back of the house.
"Oh, are n't I glad we got away!" said Bobby, laughing; "the idea of playing that silly thing! Let 's have a lark, Jack!"
"What kind of one?" inquired Jack.
"Oh, let 's go down on the river bank, and have a swim!"
Now, Bobby knew perfectly well that his father would never have allowed him to go in swimming alone, for the river had ​a very swift current, and he had never gone rowing on it without his father in the boat.
But he put the conviction of his naughtiness out of his head. He had been on his good behavior all the afternoon, and he felt a wild desire to make up for it now. He put his hands to his neck and tore off the linen collar. His pretty suit followed; everything was flung in a heap on the bank, Jack rapidly undressing a few feet away. Then the boys sprang into the water with a laugh.
"Oh—but it's cold enough!" cried Bobby. "Let's strike out hard, and get warm!"
They were both good swimmers, but Jack was the better. At first it was great fun. Swimming was wonderfully easy when the current helped so much; but when they tried to turn and swim the other way—it was a very different matter. They struggled and struggled, and yet it ​was plain that they kept very nearly where they were in the water. And then, a terrified cry came from Bobby's lips,—for the worst danger of any to the bather had taken hold of his little helpless body—the cramp!
"Yell, Jack!" he cried piteously. "Yell all you can! I can't do a thing for myself!"
Jack needed no second bidding; his screams rang out sharp and clear on the soft summer air.
Very soon after the boys had left the rest of the party, Moti found it out. She was a young lady who expected a great deal of respect, and it vexed her that her Cousin Bobby should leave her on her birthday.
With a funny, imperious little gesture, she called the faithful Dilâl who was watching in the background, to her side.
"What is the wish of Missy sahib?" he asked, bending his six feet of spotless ​white muslin to a level with her eager face.
"I wish that you find Bobby for me!"
If any change of expression ever came into the Hindu's still face, a slight curl of his lip at mention of Bobby's name changed it now.
"I had not seen that Bobby sahib was absent," he said calmly.
"He is very bad to be absent!" Moti said, and there was a sob in her voice which made Dilâl angry with its cause.
"Bobby sahib is a Budmash," he replied, "He is always bad." For the servant had not forgiven Bobby either his pushing his little cousin and making her fall, or the title of "Scorpion." Bobby was not sensitive, but he was aware of Dilâl's dislike, and kept away from him.
Moti had told him all that Bobby had said on that unfortunate afternoon, adding that her Aunt Maysie had said that he was like a scorpion.
​"Very well," Dilâl had said to himself, deep down in his passionate heart, "they call me bad names! It may be I shall deserve them! Scorpion sting; Dilâl may sting too! It is not good to put a stranger in a strange land to shame; he will not forget."
But his Missy sahib liked this bad Bobby, odd as it was. And, to the devotion of the man, this was enough to protect the Budmash ("Evil-walker") for the present. So he now asked submissively,—
"Missy wants me to go and bring Bobby sahib to her?"
"Yes, Dilâl, bring him."
The tall, white-robed figure moved away. He had no notion where the boy might be; that was no matter, he would look till he found him. Bobby was not indoors, he discovered. He came out again, into the back garden, and, as a sudden thought struck him, he turned down ​the pretty path to the river. And then, in another minute, he heard a scream, and made haste. There were more screams. He hurried in the direction they came from, and pushing through the young trees which grew thickly along the bank,—saw, first a naked, shivering boy, just come ashore, and then a second boy, tossing his arms as the current bore him down and away.
Dilâl took no time to think. In an instant he was in the water, and swimming after the drowning lad. Poor Jack, seeing help arrive, stopped screaming, and watched Dilâl's wide strokes carrying him to Bobby's side. Now Bobby sank—now he rose; Dilâl had him—No, he had n't! Jack shut his eyes. Then he heard a cry, and saw Dilâl swimming back, slowly, but surely, with the figure of his playmate.
It took a long while, even for the strong man, and when he got to shore, he was ​too much exhausted to speak. The current had beaten him off and pushed him from the side he must reach.
Ten minutes later, a strange and sorrowful-looking little procession came across the lawn to the ring of game-players. At sight of it, all Sprang to their feet.
"Oh, what has happened to my boy?" Mrs. Fane shrieked, running to meet the dripping white figure that bore a dripping child.
Dilâl said nothing. He looked in her face with a curious expression, and laid Bobby, wet and unconscious, in her arms.
Two hours after, when all the frightened little guests were gone, and the terrified Moti had been soothed to sleep with the assurance that her cousin would be all right in the morning; when Bobby himself, rolled in blankets, and comforted with hot drinks, was sleeping,—Dilâl sat by the tiny bed which held his Missy, and thought.
​"Yes, that is the best," he was thinking, "to give good for evil, not evil again. It would have been bad to do otherwise. The Mem, [Mrs. Fane,] she did not like Dilâl: she said hard words of Dilâl; she call him scorpion. But when he bring her the son of her heart, she not say hard words. She not mind touching Dilâl's hand; she weep, and she say—'God bless you, Dilâl—so!'" He looked tenderly at the face of Moti.
"And she—she, my little pearl,—she like Dilâl the more! Bobby sahib bad boy, but Dilâl is glad he is safe. Better so."