when alicia went into the fort in her quest after the black locket, robin, keeping the doli in sight, removed to a place at a short distance where he would be less liable to observation. there, under a peepul tree was a well to supply the inmates of the fort with water, and this water, as is very commonly the case in india, was drawn up by means of a persian wheel. this contrivance, which is never seen in england, is familiar to dwellers in the east. two oxen, yoked to a shaft which is attached to a large wheel, by going round and round the well make the wheel revolve. its circumference is completely encircled with a garland of small earthen pots. as the big wheel turns round, its lower half in the well, such of the pots as are lowest dip under the water, and thus necessarily become filled. the revolution of the wheel raises these full vessels higher and higher, till each in turn reaches a point where the turn of the circle empties out all the water contained in the pot into a wooden trough. by the water flowing through this channel, a tiny streamlet is fed to irrigate the fields or supply the personal wants of the people. to robin this manner of raising water by a persian wheel was nothing new, but as he now stood waiting he had plenty of time to watch the simple contrivance, and the revolving wheel, with its filling and emptying jars, formed itself into a parable in his mind.
“these oxen go round and round on a wearisome course of work, perhaps themselves suffering from thirst whilst raising water for others. they are like our home societies, our secretaries and committees, labouring in dear old england to turn the mission wheel. all these little jars are emblems of the missionaries themselves; that one broken at the rim i’ll take as a type of myself. here you go down, down, little jar—there’s a need of humility; keep aloft, and not a drop of water can reach you. you must descend before you can mount. there! my jar has disappeared in the well—it is, as it were, lost in its work; this is the filling time for the little vessel. there! i see it again, dripping and glistening and rising! up it goes to empty itself of its treasure, to send fertility into the fields, and comfort into the home, to make the dry furrows laugh with a future harvest. the jar is but a poor, mean thing of clay, yet it has its use in the world,—emblem of weak men and weaker women, of whom god deigns to make use to carry to the thirsty heathen that water of life—the knowledge of a saviour.”
robin, who of late had not only thought a good deal, but written a good deal—his pen taking, as he said to himself, the place of a wife—was so full of his little allegory, which he thought that he might turn into a poem, that he did not take notice of the approach of a party of men, till one of them suddenly addressed him. turning his eyes from the persian wheel, robin recognized in the handsomely-attired native near him thákar dás, the chief who ruled in the fort. the hindu did not give the englishman the salám which courtesy demands, and there was something of insolence in the chief’s tone and manner as he abruptly said, “where is kripá dé?”
“why do you ask me?” said robin, perplexed by the sudden question.
“because you are certain to know. you and your brother have misguided the lad—you have bewitched him; have you baptized him too?”
“no,” was the curt reply.
“have you made him break his caste? has he eaten with you?” demanded the angry hindu.
“what right have you to inquire?” asked robin.
“am i not his father?” cried thákar dás.
“kripá dé has no father, nor mother neither,” said robin, “and he is of an age to choose for himself.”
“he is under fourteen years of age!” cried the hindu.
“kripá dé is full eighteen years old; no one knows that better than yourself,” said the indignant robin. “happily his janam-patri [horoscope] is with us.”
“you have seen it!” exclaimed thákar dás. “then the boy is in hiding with you?”
robin was silent; he could not deny the fact.
the chief gave a signal both with voice and with uplifted arm to a body of men whom he had stationed at some fifty yards distance on the road which led to the mission bungalow. “off—seize kripá dé!” shouted thákar dás; and in an instant the band of hindus were rushing in the direction of mr. hartley’s house, to execute the command of their chief, and carry off the disgraced and degraded brahmin. some of these hindus were armed with sticks and clubs; but had they borne swords and guns it would have been all the same to robin hartley. he had but one thought—“kripá dé is in danger; i must warn him. these hindus have the start of me; but i’ll be at the bungalow before them.” and off darted robin at speed.
alicia’s kahars, eager, like all natives of india, to see a tamasha (which might be anglicized “to be present at the fun”), deserted the doli, and hurried off in the same direction.
the other hindus ran fast; but “with heart of fire and foot of wind,” the active robin overtook them mid-way and passed them, narrowly missing a heavy blow from a club. victor in the race, panting and streaming with perspiration, the english youth came near enough to the bungalow for his shout to be heard by one within it. “up to the roof, kripá dé!” he had no breath to say more. it was too late for the convert to fly with any hope of escaping; but if he could mount to the roof, robin had resolved to take his own stand on the steep narrow outside stair which led to it, and make good its defence against the attacking force. “i think that i can keep the wolves at bay, at least until the arrival of my father and harold shall reduce the odds against me,” muttered robin hartley.
kripá dé, as commanded, fled to the roof; robin shouted to him to lie down flat, so as not to offer a mark to the shower of bricks with which the pursuers were likely to assail him. robin himself caught up a hatchet which had been left on a heap of rough timber which a servant had been chopping up for firewood. this was a formidable weapon wielded by a strong, vigorous english arm. robin mounted the steep stair, took his stand on one of the upper steps, and in an attitude of defiance awaited the expected rush of men from below.
the hindus looked up, but did not attempt to come within reach of the swing of the hatchet. no one chose to be the first to encounter the fearless boy. a brief consultation appeared to be held below. robin could not hear the words spoken, but he was soon to see their effect. about half the number of hindus moved off. young hartley knew that there was no inner staircase to the bungalow, and therefore considered that the only way of reaching the convert on the roof was by passing over his own body. but robin had forgotten that alicia’s “paradise” had a separate outer staircase, and that the dwellings were so close to each other that they virtually formed but one. young hartley was reminded of his oversight by seeing dark figures running over the flat roof of his brother’s house. robin could not guard two staircases at once, so springing upon his own roof with intent to defend kripá dé to the last, he saw the poor young convert struggling in the grasp of a dozen dark hands. robin beheld no more, for he was himself struck down by a bludgeon which laid him senseless on the flat roof. there he lay, bleeding and unconscious of all that was passing around him. when the poor youth recovered his senses, he found the place deserted; the convert had evidently been carried off, and all that he had himself gained from the brief struggle to save kripá dé was an aching head, from which blood flowed freely over his face and dress. robin raised himself, first to a sitting posture, then to his feet, looked around, and then, though feeling sick, dizzy, and faint, made his way to the stair. he descended the steps much more slowly than he had mounted them, and just as he reached the platform below his father and the rest of the party arrived. alicia gave a cry of horror when she saw the state of her poor young brother.
“my boy! what has happened?” exclaimed mr. hartley in alarm.
“kripá dé has been carried off,” was the reply. robin had no thought for anything else.
“and you?”
“oh! never mind me. what a blockhead i was to forget the second stair!”
“your hurt must be dressed at once,” cried alicia.
“it’s nothing—a mere knock; the thing to be done is to rescue poor kripá dé!”
robin was in such an impatient mood that he would hardly submit to have his wound washed, dressed, and bound up. harold played the surgeon, and alicia the nurse, wrapping round her brother’s head a delicate white scarf which had formed part of her own apparel.
“o alicia, your satin is stained with blood; it will never be worth anything again!” cried robin.
“my satin has done its work,” was alicia’s reply: “i have through it secured the black locket.”
“secured the black locket!” exclaimed robin, springing from his seat, and clapping his hands for joy like a child.
“i will now at once write to mr. thole a full account of this cruel, cowardly attack on my son,” said mr. hartley, “and of the carrying away by violence one of her majesty’s subjects.”
“and you will add that the proof of premi’s identity with miranda macfinnis, my wife’s cousin, is in our hands,” observed harold; “that alicia has secured the black locket, which is exactly similar to the one in her own possession.”
“and tell of the fragment of a child’s sock,” added alicia, “and that it has the initials ‘m. m.’ marked upon it.”
“oh, show me these things!” exclaimed robin.
“sit down, sit down,” said harold: “we must not have the end of the scarf hanging down like a streamer, instead of binding up your poor broken head. if you will be quiet, like a sensible fellow, alicia will show us her trophies of war.”
with very great interest were the black locket and piece of old sock examined and handed around. both had suffered from time and rough usage, but on the locket the inscription in minute letters, “e. t., 1856,” was legible still, as well as the mark on the sock. mr. hartley, after examining these relics, sat down to his desk and wrote as concise and forcible an account as possible of the attack on kripá dé, the injury received by robin, and the manner in which the proofs of miss miranda macfinnis’s identity had come into the missionaries’ possession. “doubtless due investigation will bring out other and yet more convincing evidence,” mr. hartley wrote in conclusion. he then sent off his letter at once.
“alicia, you have managed your part of the affair much better than i have done mine,” said poor robin, whose head was aching sorely under its improvised picturesque turban.
“it was you who put me in the way of doing anything,” was alicia’s reply. “i am a coward, and should never to-day have ventured into the fort at all had you not given me courage, and helped by your counsels and prayers.”
“our exotic has climbed bravely,” said robin, glancing at his father. “did i not foretell that it would soon smile down on us all?”
