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Kipling, Rudyard, 1865-1936

"From Mine Own People"

Never before has such a thing befallen me! Nor are my taxes heavy."
A rabbit-faced villager, with a blush-rose stuck behind his ear, advanced
trembling. He had been in Namgay Doola's conspiracy, but had told everything
and hoped for the king's favor.
"Oh, king!" said I, "if it be the king's will, let this matter stand over till
the morning. Only the gods can do right in a hurry, and it may be that yonder
villager has lied."
"Nay, for I know the nature of Namgay Doola; but since a guest asks, let the
matter remain. Wilt thou, for my sake, speak harshly to this red-headed
outlander? He may listen to thee."
I made an attempt that very evening, but for the life of me I could not keep my
countenance. Namgay Doola grinned so persuasively and began to tell me about a
big brown bear in a poppy field by the river. Would I care to shoot that bear?
I spoke austerely on the sin of detected conspiracy and the certainty of
punishment. Namgay Doola's face clouded for a moment. Shortly afterward he
withdrew from my tent, and I heard him singing softly among the pines. The
words were unintelligible to me, but the tune, like his liquid, insinuating
speech, seemed the ghost of something strangely familiar.
"Dir hane mard-i-yemen dir To weeree ala gee,"
crooned Namgay Doola again and again, and I racked my brain for that lost tune.


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