Mr. Y--- hurriedly added a few more touches to his drawing and rose
to collect his brushes and pencils.
We glanced at his fresh wet picture and opened our eyes in astonishment.
There was no lake on it, no woody shores, and no velvety evening mists
that covered the distant island at this moment. Instead of all this
we saw a charming sea view; thick clusters of shapely palm-trees
scattered over the chalky cliffs of the littoral; a fortress-like
bungalow with balconies and a flat roof, an elephant standing at
its entrance, and a native boat on the crest of a foaming billow.
"Now what is this view, sir?" wondered the colonel. "As if it was
worth your while to sit in the sun, and detain us all, to draw
fancy pictures out of your own head!"
"What on earth are you talking about?" exclaimed Mr. Y---. "Do
you mean to say you do not recognize the lake?"
"Listen to him--the lake! Where is the lake, if you please? Were
you asleep, or what?"
By this time all our party gathered round the colonel, who held
the drawing. Narayan uttered an exclamation, and stood still,
the very image of bewilderment past description.
"I know the place!" said he, at last. "This is Dayri--Bol, the
country house of the Takur-Sahib. I know it. Last year during
the famine I lived there for two months."
I was the first to grasp the meaning of it all, but something
prevented me from speaking at once.
At last Mr. Y--- finished arranging and packing his things, and
approached us in his usual lazy, careless way, but his face showed
traces of vexation.
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