Little Mildred had risen
from his place to inspect. He jumped back as though he had been
shot.
"Perhaps it would be better, sir, to send the men away," said he
to the colonel, for he was a much privileged subaltern. He put his
arms round the rag-bound horror as he spoke, and dropped him into
a chair. It may not have been explained that the littleness of
Mildred lay in his being six feet four and big in proportion. The
corporal seeing that an officer was disposed to look after the
capture, and that the colonel's eye was beginning to blaze,
promptly removed himself and his men. The mess was left alone with
the carbine-thief, who laid his head on the table and wept
bitterly, hopelessly, and inconsolably as little children weep.
Hira Singh leapt to his feet. "Colonel Sahib,"
said he, "that man is no Afghan, for they weep Ai! Ai! Nor is he
of Hindustan, for they weep Oh! Ho! He weeps after the fashion of
the white men, who say Ow! Ow!"
"Now where the dickens did you get that knowledge, Hira Singh?"
said the captain of the Lushkar team.
"Hear him!" said Hira Singh simply, pointing at the crumpled
figure that wept as though it would never cease.
"He said, 'My God!" said little Mildred.
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