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about the mortgages. Everything would be straightened out.

"See, my friend," he concluded. "For fifteen years neither water nor soap nor scissors have defiled my body. Daily I grow and gain in holiness and filth. Tell me, have you ever seen so much holiness, so much filth, before?"

"No, beloved one of the gods," stammered the peasant.

"Then trust in me. Everything will be straightened out. Even to-night I shall cover my body with ashes and cowdung. Have faith … and the gods will be good to you. Praised be the many gods!"

The fakir left, again swearing the peasant to secrecy.

Three days afterwards the babu was on the furthest confines of the village, surveying with grim interest the crops on which he held mortgages, when five fakirs appeared suddenly before him.

They were naked. Their beards and hair were matted. Their lean bodies were covered with dirt and perspiration. Their finger nails had grown into long, twisted, fantastic curves and knots. Even at two miles, with a fair wind, your nose would have convinced you of their exceeding holiness.

So the babu bowed before them.

"Salaam, O babu-jee," exclaimed the oldest and dirtiest of the five. "I have a message for thee."

"Salaam, O Harar Lal," rejoined the other four in the heavy, impressive manner of a Greek tragedy chorus. "We have a message for thee."

The babu was surprised that they knew his name, and he asked them how they knew it.