Page:An American Girl in India.djvu/161

 I felt that things were getting bad. How was I to fulfil Aunt Agatha's trust, and duly present the dressing-gown after that?

'Oh, but surely,' I said desperately, 'you, too, must have a weakness for a real nice chic one to slip on for a nice cosy talk or read before the fire in your own room just before you go to bed.'

'No,' said Berengaria, 'we don't have fires in our bedrooms here—there aren't any fireplaces—and I never read in my room at night. Besides, John never will——'

But I never heard what John never would. It was John who created the diversion. 'Ah, there is your luggage,' he said, jumping up. 'I'll go and see to it.'

There, coming up the drive, was the tonga. It moved at a snail's pace, the bullocks swaying from side to side with slow, easy-going steps, their mild, plaintive faces seeming to protest against the heavy yoke and the burden that lay behind. Beside the driver, yet as far from him as possible, with the air of an early Christian martyr, sat Ermyntrude almost buried beneath the luggage that seemed tied on with string in every conceivable place all round. Oh, those little bits of string! Surely nowhere in the world do they play the important parts they do in India. They're quite ubiquitous. Every native seems to carry them in his pocket, and no emergency so great but the little bit of string can meet it. Say you're driving miles from anywhere and the harness breaks. Are you stranded? Oh, dear no, that sort of thing often happens. Promptly the