Last, he drew out a little sword with rubies set in the
hilt. For an instant Sunni hesitated; the ornaments were nothing,
but the sword was his chief possession and his pride. It would be
so easy to carry away! He looked at it lovingly for a minute, and
laid it with the rest. All these things were his very own, but
something told him that he must not take them away. Then he took
the long coarse white turban cloth from his head, and wrapped
everything skilfully in it. Nothing jangled, and when the parcel
was made up it was flat and even. Then Sunni, with his English
pen, printed in Urdu:
[Urdu text]
which in English letters would have been spelled 'Maharajah ka
wasti,' and which meant simply, 'For the Maharajah,' upon one side
of it. Upon the other he wrote in the large round hand that Dr.
Roberts had taught him--
'To your Honner, the Maharajah of Chita. Sunni will take your
Honner in his hart to his oun country, but the gifs are too
heavie.'
Sunni had certainly learned politeness at last among the Rajputs.
Then he put the parcel back into the box, softly locked it, and
laid the key on the cover.
Still nobody came his way. Sunni took another turban cloth from
its nail in the wall, a finely-woven turban cloth, with blue and
gold stripes, nine yards long, for festivals.
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