must be thankful that we've lots of things to do.'

'Things to do!' said Jim, when that was reported to him. 'They're
neither of them any good any more. I can't get five hours' work a day
out of Scott. He's in the clouds half the time.'

'Oh, but they're so beautiful to watch, Jimmy. It will break my heart
when they go. Can't you do anything for him?'

'I've given the Government the impression--at least, I hope I
have--that he personally conducted the entire famine. But all he
wants is to get on to the Luni Canal Works, and William's just as
bad. Have you ever heard 'em talking of barrage and aprons and
wastewater. It's their style of spooning, I suppose.'

Mrs. Jim smiled tenderly. 'Ah, that's in the intervals--bless 'em.'

And so Love ran about the camp unrebuked in broad daylight, while men
picked up the pieces and put them neatly away of the Famine in the
Eight Districts.

* * * * *

Morning brought the penetrating chill of the Northern December, the
layers of wood-smoke, the dusty gray blue of the tamarisks, the domes
of ruined tombs, and all the smell of the white Northern plains, as
the mail-train ran on to the mile-long Sutlej Bridge. William,
wrapped in a _poshteen_--silk-embroidered sheepskin jacket trimmed
with rough astrakhan--looked out with moist eyes and nostrils that
dilated joyously. The South of pagodas and palm-trees, the