'Do not sit under that gun，'said the policeman loftily.
'Huh！Owl！'was Kim's retort on the lama's behalf.'Sit under that gun if it please thee.When didst thou steal the milk-woman's slippers，Dunnoo？'
That was an utterly unfounded charge sprung on the spur of the moment，but it silenced Dunnoo，who knew that Kim's clear yell could call up legions of bad bazar boys if need arose.
'And whom didst thou worship within？'said Kim affably，squatting in the shade beside the lama.
'I worshipped none，child.I bowed before the Excellent Law.'
Kim accepted this new God without emotion.He knew already a few score.
'And what dost thou do？'
'I beg.I remember now it is long since I have eaten or drunk.What is the custom of charity in this town？In silence，as we do of Tibet，or speaking aloud？'
'Those who beg in silence starve in silence，'said Kim，quoting a native proverb.The lama tried to rise，but sank back again，sighing for his disciple，dead in far-away Kulu.Kim watched -head to one side，considering and interested.
'Give me the bowl.I know the people of this city -all who are charitable.
Give，and I will bring it back filled.'
Simply as a child the old man handed him the bowl.
'Rest，thou.I know the people.'
He trotted off to the open shop of a kunjri ，a low-caste vegetable-seller，which lay opposite the belt-tramway line down the Motee Bazar.She knew Kim of old.
'Oho，hast thou turned yogi with thy begging-bowl？'she cried.
'Nay，'said Kim proudly.'There is a new priest in the city a man such as I have never seen.'
'Old priest -young tiger，'said the woman angrily.'I am tired of new priests！They settle on our wares like flies.Is the father of my son a well of charity to give to all who ask？'
'No，'said Kim.'Thy man is rather yagi [bad-tempered]than yogi [a holy man].But this priest is new.The Sahib in the Wonder House has talked to him like a brother.O my mother，fill me this bowl.He waits.'
'That bowl indeed！That cow-bellied basket！Thou hast as much grace as the holy bull of Shiv.He has taken the best of a basket of onions already，this morn；and forsooth，I must fill thy bowl.He comes here again.'
The huge，mouse-coloured Brahmini bull of the ward was shouldering his way through the many-coloured crowd，a stolen plantain hanging out of his mouth.He headed straight for the shop，well knowing his privileges as a sacred beast，lowered his head，and puffed heavily along the line of baskets ere making his choice.Up flew Kim's hard little heel and caught him on his moist blue nose.He snorted indignantly，and walked away across the tram-rails，his hump quivering with rage.
'See！I have saved more than the bowl will cost thrice over.Now，mother，a little rice and some dried fish atop -yes，and some vegetable curry.'
A growl came out of the back of the shop，where a man lay.
'He drove away the bull，'said the woman in an undertone.'It is good to give to the poor.'She took the bowl and returned it full of hot rice.
'But my yogi is not a cow，'said Kim gravely，making a hole with his fingers in the top of the mound.'A little curry is good，and a fried cake，and a morsel of conserve would please him，I think.'
'It is a hole as big as thy head，'said the woman fretfully.But she filled it，none the less，with good，steaming vegetable curry，clapped a fried cake atop，and a morsel of clarified butter on the cake，dabbed a lump of sour tamarind conserve at the side；and Kim looked at the load lovingly.
'That is good.When I am in the bazar the bull shall not come to this house.He is a bold beggar-man.'
'And thou？'laughed the woman.'But speak well of bulls.Hast thou not told me that some day a Red Bull will come out of a field to help thee？
Now hold all straight and ask for the holy man's blessing upon me.Perhaps，too，he knows a cure for my daughter's sore eyes.Ask him that also，Othou Little Friend of all the World.'
But Kim had danced off ere the end of the sentence，dodging pariah dogs and hungry acquaintances.
'Thus do we beg who know the way of it，'said he proudly to the lama，who opened his eyes at the contents of the bowl.'Eat now and -I will eat with thee.Ohé，bhisti ！'he called to the water-carrier，sluicing the crotons by the Museum.'Give water here.We men are thirsty.'
'We men！'said the bhisti，laughing.'Is one skinful enough for such a pair？Drink，then，in the name of the Compassionate.'
He loosed a thin stream into Kim's hands，who drank native-fashion；but the lama must needs pull out a cup from his inexhaustible upper draperies and drink ceremonially.
'Pardesi [a foreigner]，'Kim explained，as the old man delivered in an unknown tongue what was evidently a blessing.
They ate together in great content，clearing the begging-bowl.Then the lama took snuff from a portentous wooden snuff-gourd，fingered his rosary awhile，and so dropped into the easy sleep of age，as the shadow of Zam-Zammah grew long.
Kim loafed over to the nearest tobacco-seller，a rather lively young Mohammedan woman，and begged a rank cigar of the brand that they sell to students of the Punjab University who copy English customs.Then he smoked and thought，knees to chin，under the belly of the gun，and the outcome of his thoughts was a sudden and stealthy departure in the direction of Nila Ram's timber-yard.
The lama did not wake till the evening life of the city had begun with lamp-lighting and the return of white-robed clerks and subordinates from the Government offices.He stared dizzily in all directions，but none looked at him save a Hindu urchin in a dirty turban and Isabella-coloured clothes.
Suddenly he bowed his head on his knees and wailed.
'What is this？'said the boy，standing before him.'Hast thou been robbed？'
'It is my new chela [disciple]that is gone away from me，and I know not where he is.'
'And what like of man was thy disciple？'
'It was a boy who came to me in place of him who died，on account of the merit which I had gained when I bowed before the Law within there.'
