revolver from his breast]. It is a good machine, and he is a good son. What else.

Son. He says: "You tell me our enemies have killed my uncle and my brother, beside wounding our father. I am very far away and can give no help whatever. It is a matter for great regret. Our enemies are now two lives to the good against us in the account. We must take our revenge quickly. The responsibility, I suppose, is altogether on the head of my youngest brother."

Father. But I am still good for sitting-shots.

Mother [soothingly]. Ah! But he means, to think over all the arrangements. Wounded men cannot think clearly till the fever is out of the wound.

Son [reading]. "My youngest brother said he would enlist after me when the harvest was gathered. That is now out of the question. Tell him he must attend to the work in hand." (That is true, I cannot enlist now.) "Tell him not to wander about after the people who did the actual killing. They will probably have taken refuge on the Government side of the Border." (That is true, too. It is exactly what they did.) "Even up the account from the nearest household of our enemies. This will force the murderers for their honour's sake to return and attend to their proper business when—God willing—they can be added as a bonus. Take our revenge quickly."

Father [stroking beard]. This is all wisdom. I have a man for a son. What else does he say, Akbar?

Son. He says: "I have a letter from Kohat telling me that a certain man of a family that we know is coming out here with a draft in order to settle with me for an account which he says I opened."

Mother [quickly]. Would that be Gul Shere Khan—about that Peshawari girl?

Son. Perhaps. But Ahmed is not afraid. Listen! He says: "If that man or even his brothers wish to come to France after me I shall be very pleased. If, in fact, anyone wishes to kill me, let them by all means come out. I am here present in the field of battle. I have placed my life on a tray. The people in our country who talk about killing are children. They have not seen the reality of things. We do not turn our heads when forty are killed at a breath. Men are swallowed up or blown apart here as one divides meat. When we are in the trenches, there is no time to strike a blow on the private account. When we are at rest in the villages, one's lust for killing has been satisfied. Two men joined us in the draft last month to look after a close friend of mine with whom they had a private account. They were great swash-bucklers at first. They even volunteered to go into the trenches though it was not their turn of duty. They expected that their private account could be settled during some battle. Since that turn of duty they have become quite meek. They had, till then, only seen men killed by ones and twos, half a mile separating them. This business was like killing flies on sugar. Have no fear for me, therefore, no matter who joins the Regiment. It needs a very fierce stomach to add anything to our Government rations."

Mother. He writes like a poet, my son. That is wonderful writing.

Father. All the young men write the same with regard to the war. It quite satisfies all desires. What else does he say?

Son [summarizing]. He says that he is well fed and has learned to drink the French coffee. He says there are two sorts of French tobacco—one yellow, one blue. The blue, he says, is the best. They are named for the papers they are wrapped in. He says that on no account must we send him any opium or drugs, because the punishment for drugging is severe and the doctors are quick to discover. He desires to be sent to him some strong hair-dye of the sort that our father uses.

Mother [with a gesture]. Hair-dye! He is a child. What's he been doing?

Son. He says he wishes to win favour from his native officer whose white hairs are showing and who has no proper dye. He says he will repay the cost and that no charges are made for the parcel. It must be very strong henna-dye.

Mother [laughing]. It shall be. I will make it myself. A start it gave me to hear him ask for dyes! They are not due for another twenty years.

Father [fretfully]. Read it. Read it all as it is written, word for word. What else does he say?

Son. He speaks of the country of the French. Listen! He says: "This country is full of precious objects, such as grain, ploughs, and implements, and sheep which lie about the fields by day with none to guard them. The French are a virtuous people and do not steal from each other. If a man merely approaches towards anything there are eyes watching him. To take one chicken is to loosen the tongues of fifty old women. I was warned on joining that the testimony of one such would outweigh the testimony of six honourable Pathans. It is true. Money and valuables are, therefore, left openly in houses. None dare even to look at them with a covetous eye. I have seen two hundred rupees' worth of clothing hung up on a nail. None knew the owner, yet it remained till her return."

Mother. That is the country for me! Dresses worth two hundred rupees hanging on nails! Princesses all they must be.

Son [continuing]. Listen to these fresh marvels. He says: "We reside in brick houses with painted walls of flowers and birds; we sit upon chairs covered with silks. We sleep on high beds that cost a hundred rupees each. There is glass in all the doors and windows; the abundance of iron and brass, pottery, and copper kitchen-utensils is not to be estimated. Every house is a palace of entertainment filled with clocks, lamps, candlesticks, gildings, and images."

Father. What a country! What a country! How much will he be able to bring back of it all?

Son. He says: "The inhabitants defend their possessions to the uttermost—even down to the value of half a chicken or a sheep's kidney. They do not keep their money in their houses, but send it away on loan. Their rates of interest are very low. They talk among themselves of loans and pledges and the gaining of money, just as we do. We Indian troops are esteemed and honoured by all, by the children specially. These children wear no jewelry. Therefore, there are no murders committed for the sake of ornaments except by the enemy. These children resemble small moons. They make mud figures in their play of men and horses. He who can add figures of oxen, elephants and palanquins is highly praised. Do you remember when I used to make them?"

Mother. Do I remember? Am I a block of wood or an old churn? Go on, Akbar? What of my child?

Son. He says: "When the children are not in the school they are at work in the fields from their earliest years. They soon lose all fear of us soldiers, and drill us up and down the streets of the villages. The smallest salute on all occasions. They suffer little from sickness. The old women here are skilful in medicines. They dry the leaves of trees and give them for a drink against diseases. One old woman gave me an herb to chew for a worm in my tooth [toothache] which cured me in an hour."

Mother. God reward that woman! I wonder what she used.