` That is for a memory between thee and me -- my pencase . It is something old -- even as I am . ' It was a piece of ancient design , Chinese , of an iron that is not smelted these days ; and the collector 's heart in the Curator 's bosom had gone out to it from the first . For no persuasion would the lama resume his gift . ` When I return , having found the River , I will bring thee a written picture of the Padma Samthora such as I used to make on silk at the lamassery . Yes -- and of the Wheel of Life , ' he chuckled , ` for we be craftsmen together , thou and I. ' The Curator would have detained him : they are few in the world who still have the secret of the conventional brush-pen Buddhist pictures which are , as it were , half written and half drawn . But the lama strode out , head high in air , and pausing an instant before the great statue of a Bodhisat in meditation , brushed through the turnstiles . Kim followed like a shadow . What he had overheard excited him wildly . This man was entirely new to all his experience , and he meant to investigate further , precisely as he would have investigated a new building or a strange festival in Lahore city . The lama was his trove , and he purposed to take possession . Kim 's mother had been Irish , too . The old man halted by Zam-Zammah and looked round till his eye fell on Kim . The inspiration of his pilgrimage had left him for awhile , and he felt old , forlorn , and very empty . ` 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 milkwoman 's slippers , Dunnoo ? '
That was an utterly unfounded charge sprung on the spur of the moment , but it silenced Dunnoo , who knew that XXXXX 's clear yell could call up legions of bad bazaar boys if need arose .
Curator Dunnoo Irish Kim Lahore days first milkwoman pencase turnstiles