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Townley's, very charming house. Boggley had to go off at once on another short tour, and I was only too pleased to come to this most comfortable habitation. It is nice to be with G. again, and she has lots to tell me about her doings dances, garden-parties, picnics all of which she has enjoyed thoroughly. All the same, I would rather have had my jungle experiences.
I pointed them out to Boggley, who was immediately reminded of a tale of a bumptious young civilian, new to the country, who was told, by one who had suffered many things at his hands, that the birds were wild turkeys, a much-valued delicacy; hearing which the youth promptly shot some and sent them round to the ladies of the station. Do you believe that tale? I don't.
We didn't say "I told you so," but we looked it. Boggley comes back to-morrow, and I am going with him to the Grand Hotel, so that we shall be together for the last little while. Agra, April 11. ... from a chapter in the Arabian Nights; from the middle of the most gorgeous fairy-tale the mind of man could invent, I write to you to-night.
This letter must begin in pencil, for Boggley has the only pen. By the bye, would you mind keeping my letters till I get home? I think it might be amusing to read them when my cold weather in India is a thing of the past. Behold us on the first stage of our wanderings! We left Takai on Wednesday, I in my old friend the doolie, Boggley on his bicycle.
I could have gone on watching the people for a long time, but Boggley was anxious to be off; so after tearful farewells and many promises to write had been exchanged, we departed. The special Providence that looks after casual people has guided Boggley to quite a nice house in a nice part of the town.
Isn't it the Irish R.M. who talks of that blank time of day when breakfast has died within one and lunch is not yet? I find it, on the whole, entertaining, though somewhat trying; for Boggley, you see, has to be out paying calls on his own account, and so I have to receive my visitors alone. It is quite like a game.
In Rika they must feel at home, for the whole air is scented with roses and mignonette. When Mrs. Royle took us to see her flowers, Boggley pulled a sprig of mignonette, sniffed it appreciatively, and handing it to me said: "What does that remind you of?" "Miss Aitken's teas!" I said promptly. Always that scent takes me straight back to sunny summer afternoons when
Russel is a medical missionary. I don't know him, but his wife, a very clever, interesting woman, I met when she was last home, and she told me about her home in the jungle until I longed to see it. Boggley will come for me in about ten days. Bella I shall leave in Calcutta. It would be a nuisance carting her about from place to place, and I am not so helpless that I can't manage for myself.
He seems to be enjoying India vastly, and had three quite new stories, though if he didn't laugh so much telling them it would be easier to see the point. Boggley and he loved each other at once. After dinner, when the men were smoking, the Rocking Horse Fly began to get arch don't you hate people when they are arch? and said surely I was never going home without capturing some heart.
I believed every word, but when I came home and related the amazing tales to Boggley he received them with derisive shouts of laughter, and said they had been spinning us sailors' yarns. The mail was waiting here when I came back yesterday. Thanks so much for your letter.
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