hook. "Sahib, the hook will not fasten!"

The colonel examined it; it was upside down. The contumacious Pathans
had quietly reversed the work of the ship's carpenter, and the hook was
now useless without being ornamental. With bland ingenuous faces they
stared sadly at the hook, as if deprecating such unintelligent
craftsmanship. The Field-Marshal smiled--he knew the Pathan of old; the
colonel mentally registered a black mark against the delinquents.

"Whence come you?" said the Field-Marshal.

"From Tirah, Sahib."

"Ah! we have had some little trouble with your folk at Tirah. But all
that is now past. Serve the Emperor faithfully and it shall be well with
you."

"Ah! Sahib, but I am sorely troubled in my mind."

"And wherefore?"

"My aged father writes that a pig of a thief hath taken our cattle and
abducted our women-folk. I would fain have leave to go on furlough and
lie in a nullah at Tirah with my rifle and wait for him. Then would I
return to France."

"Patience! That can wait. How like you the War?"

"_Burra Achha Tamasha_,[1] Sahib. But we like not their big guns. We
would fain come at them with the bayonet. Why are we kept back in the