216 PINJOR 



to the level plains, came the murmur of the river 

 rolling over its stony bed. Presently a tramping 

 sound, with the rattle of jingling harness, came 

 from the road behind me, and a brisk Cockney 

 voice sang out, " Come on, Nur-i-Din, can't you; 

 you chalao (hurry up) with the maachees there ! " 



Round the corner a little company of soldiers 

 swung into view, coming from the direction of 

 the village. Shuffling after them along the 

 dusty road came an old native, his turban flying 

 distractedly in the morning breeze, holding out 

 as he ran the coveted box of matches purchased 

 from the little bazaar through which they had 

 just marched. 



The impatient speaker, filling his pipe, sat on 

 the back of a cart piled high with luggage ; other 

 Tommies walked along in twos and threes, 

 whistling gay little snatches of song, their round, 

 good-natured faces sunburnt and cheerful. The 

 cool morning air and wild country round them 

 raised their spirits ; but what probably pleased 

 them more was the fact that they were returning 

 to their station in the plains, to their own big 

 barracks, to their football and their hockey. 

 Even the gaiety of band nights in the local 

 gardens was not to be despised after a long wet 



