—as mothers have done—to take him
from you, except by an order of Court?
Remember, Dooneea," (that was her name)
"that I am running a great risk; and am,
moreover, deceiving the schoolmaster, and
behaving badly to the boy's uncle, by allowing
myself to be swayed by your tears and
my own feelings. Consider what disgrace
you will bring upon me, if you fail to keep
your word in this matter." She bound
herself by an oath that she would do all I
required, if I would only give her the longed-
for interview.

To-morrow, at twelve," said I, "you
may come here. At that hour, in this room,
the child shall be with me. Come in the
dress of a poor woman, and bring an infant
with you. Let your excuse be that you have
come to complain of the ill-treatment you
have received from your husband, who is in
my service. This will give me an opportunity
of bidding you remain until justice be done,
and meanwhile you will see the boy; and
when I go out of the room, which will be only
for a short time, you can talk to him. Do you
know your part, Dooneea?"

"Yes, Sahib."

"To-morrow at twelve. Salaam, Dooneea!"

"Salaam, Sahib." She went away with a
cheerful countenance.

There are no such actors in the world as
the people of Hindostan. The boy came to
me a little before twelve, and was reading to
me, when Dooneea, with a child in her arms,
and dressed in the shabbiest apparel, rushed
into the room, and commenced an harangue.
She said she had been beaten unmercifully by
her husband, for no cause whatever; that he
had broken one of her fingers, and had
attempted to stab her; but she had saved her
life by flight. All this she accompanied with
gesticulations and tears, according to the
custom of complainants in the East. I feigned to
be very angry with the husband, and hastily
left the room, as if to make inquiry and to
send for him.

I ran round to an outer door, and peeped
in upon Dooneea and her boy. She was
repeating the same tale to the child, and
the child was imploring her not to cry. It
was a strange scene. The tears she was now
shedding were not mock tears. The boy asked
her how her husband came to beat her? She
began thus: "I was sitting near the fire talking
to my eldest boy, and had my arm round
his waist there, just as I put my arm round
your waist and I said to the boy, ' It is
getting very late and you must go to sleep,' and
I pulled him to my breast like this and
gave him a kiss on his forehead, then on his
eyes there just as gently as that, yes, just
like that. Well, the boy began to cry "'

"Why did he cry? Because you told him
to go to bed?"

"Yes," said Dooneea; "but his father came
in, and thought I was teazing the child. He
abused me, and then he beat me."

The woman gazed at her child; and, having
a good excuse for weeping in her alleged
wrongs, she did not scruple to avail herself
of it. From behind the screen which
concealed me from her sight, and that of the boy,
I, too, shed tears of pity.

I returned to the room, and said, "Dooneea,
since you are afraid of your life, do not
leave this house until I tell you to do so; but
give your infant to the sweeper's wife to take
care of. I do not like young children in my
house."

How thankful she was! She placed her
head upon my feet, and cracked her knuckles
over my knees.

Charles Lamb says that the children of the
poor are adults from infancy. The same may
be said of the children of the rich in India.
Dooneea's little boy discussed the conduct of
the cruel husband, and sympathised with the
ill-used wife, as though he had been called
upon to adjudicate the affair in a Court of
Justice. He even went so far as to say,
"What a wicked man to beat such a dear-
looking woman!" and he gave Dooneea the
rupee which I had given to him on the
day previous when I saw him at the school.
With what delight did Dooneea tie up that
piece of coin, from the child's hand, in the
corner of her garment! It seemed far more
precious to her than all the jewels which his
dead father had presented to her in days
gone by. It was a gift from her own
child, who was living but, to her, dead..
Dooneea spoke Persian—a language the boy
did not understand. His father had taught
Dooneea that language in order that their
servants might not know the tenor of their
discourse. In that language Dooneea now
spoke to me, in the boy's presence.

"Is he not very like his father?" she said.

"Very," I replied.

"Will he be as clever?"

"He is too young for any one to judge of
that."

"But he will be as generous," (she pointed
to the coin) "and he will be as tall, as good-
looking, as passionate, as gentle, and as
kind."

The boy's boots were muddy. Dooneea
observed this, and with her own little hands
cleaned them; and smiling, she asked him
for a present, in that tone and manner which
the poorest menial in Hindostan adopts when
addressing the most haughty superior.

The boy blushed, and looked at me.

"Have you nothing to give her?" said I.

"Nothing," said he; "I gave her my
rupee."

"Give her that pretty blue ribbon which is
round your neck, and I will give you one like
it," said I.

He took the ribbon from his neck and gave
it to Dooneea.

Dooneea twisted the ribbon in her hair,
and began to weep afresh.

"Do not cry, you silly woman," said I; "I