'I do not like Matiya.
What is it, Matiya?'
'It is not Matiya,' said the voice quickly, 'it is Tarra. Here is
a gift from the heart of Tarra, little parrot, a gift for you, and
a gift for the Sahib's son; also a sweet cake, but the cake is for
Moti.'
'I am sure it was Matiya,' said Moti, running to pick the packet
out of the rose-bush it had fallen into; 'but Matiya was never kind
before.'
The packet held a necklace and an armlet. The necklace was of
little pearls and big amethysts strung upon fine wire, three rows
of pearls, and then an amethyst, and was very lovely. The armlet
was of gold, with small rubies and turquoises set in a pattern.
The boys looked at them more or less indifferently. They had seen
so many jewels.
'Matiya--if you think it was Matiya--makes pretty gifts,' said
Sunni, 'and the Maharajah will keep your necklace for you for ever
in an iron box. But this armlet will get broken just as the other
two armlets that were given to me have got broken. I cannot wear
armlets and play polo, and I would rather play polo.'
'That is because you were clumsy,' Moti answered. Moti was peevish
that afternoon. The Maharajah had refused him a gun, and he
particularly wanted a gun, not to shoot anything, but to frighten
the crows with and perhaps the coolie-folk.
Pages:
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51