"It is not very
comfortable," he explained, "but it is the best we have."
He was so tall that he was obliged to stoop as he entered the doorway.
Within was an ordinary peasant's kitchen, but cleaner than the
average. In spite of the weather the floor boards were freshly
scrubbed. The hearth was swept, and by the stove lay a sleek
tortoise-shell cat. There was a wooden dresser, a chimney shelf with
rows of plates standing on it, and in a doorway just beyond an elderly
peasant woman watching us curiously.
"Perhaps," said Makand Singh, "you will have coffee?"
I was glad to accept, and the young officer, who had followed,
accepted also. We sat down while the kettle was placed on the stove
and the fire replenished. I glanced at the Indian major's tall figure.
Even sitting, he was majestic. When he took the cape off he was
discovered clothed in the khaki uniform of his rank in the British
Army. Except for the olive colour of his skin, his turban, and the
fact that his beard--the soft beard of one who has never shaved--was
drawn up into a black net so that it formed a perfect crescent around
the angle of his jaw, he might have been a gallant and interested
English officer.
For the situation assuredly interested him. His eyes were alert and
keen. When he smiled he showed rows of beautiful teeth, small and
white.
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