...
The Presence knows the Punjab? Lahore? Amritzar? Attaree, belike? My
village is north over the fields three miles from Attaree, near the big
white house which was copied from a certain place of the Great Queen's by
--by--I have forgotten the name. Can the Presence recall it? Sirdar Dyal
Singh Attareewalla! Yes, that is the very man; but how does the Presence
know? Born and bred in Hind, was he? O-o-oh! This is quite a different
matter. The Sahib's nurse was a Surtee woman from the Bombay side? That
was a pity. She should have been an up-country wench; for those make stout
nurses. There is no land like the Punjab. There are no people like the
Sikhs. Umr Singh is my name, yes. An old man? Yes. A trooper only after
all these years? Ye-es. Look at my uniform, if the Sahib doubts. Nay--nay;
the Sahib looks too closely. All marks of rank were picked off it long
ago, but--but it is true--mine is not a common cloth such as troopers use
for their coats, and--the Sahib has sharp eyes--that black mark is such a
mark as a silver chain leaves when long worn on the breast. The Sahib says
that troopers do not wear silver chains? No-o. Troopers do not wear the
Arder of Beritish India? No. The Sahib should have been in the Police of
the Punjab. I am not a trooper, but I have been a Sahib's servant for
nearly a year--bearer, butler, sweeper, any and all three. The Sahib says
that Sikhs do not take menial service? True; but it was for Kurban Sahib--
my Kurban Sahib--dead these three months!
* * * * *
Young--of a reddish face--with blue eyes, and he lilted a little on his
feet when he was pleased, and cracked his finger-joints.
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