Page:The Post Office (Tagore).djvu/90

86 Fakir, Fakir, 'sh, his trumpet! Can't you hear?

Ha! ha! ha! I fear he won't until he's a bit more off his head.

Mr. Headman, I thought you were cross with me and didn't love me. I never could think you would fetch me the King's letter. Let me wipe the dust off your feet.

This little child does have an instinct of reverence. Though a little silly, he has a good heart.

It's hard on the fourth watch now, I suppose Hark the gong, "Dong,