, too, when our artist friend was with us we were in the grasp of an
epidemic of cholera. Morning and evening, and sometimes into the night,
we were tending the sick and dying in the village; and in the interval
between we had little heart for photographs. But the visit of a real
photographer is a rare event in Dohnavur, and we forced ourselves to try
to take advantage of it. Remembering our difficulties, we wonder we got
anything at all; and we hope that stranger eyes will be kind.

[Illustration: PYARIE AND VINEETHA.

"Do smile, you little Turk!"]

Often when we looked at the pretty little reversed picture in the camera,
with its delicate colouring and the grace of movement, we have wished
that we could send it as we saw it, all living and true. The photos were
taken in the open air; underfoot was soft terra-cotta-coloured sand;
overhead, the cloudless blue. In such a setting the baby pictures look
their brightest, something very different from these dull copies in
sepia. An Oriental scene in print always looks sorry for itself, and
quite apologetic. It knows it is almost a farce, and very flat and poor.

Then there were difficulties connected with character. Our photographer
was more accustomed to the dignified ways of mountains than to the
extremely restless habit of children; and he never could understand why
they would not sit for him as the mountains sat, and let him focus them
comfortably. The babies looked at things from an opposite point of view,
and strongly objected to delays and leisureliness of every description.
Sometimes when the focussing process promised to be much prolonged, we
put a child we did not wish to photograph in the place of one upon whom
we had designs, and then at the last moment exchanged her. But the baby
thus beguiled seemed to divine our purpose; and, resenting such
ensnarements, would promptly wriggle out of focus. It was like trying to
observe some active animalculae under a high power. The microscope is
perfect, the creatures are entrapped in a drop of water on the slide;
but the game is not won by any means. Sometimes, after spoiling more
plates than was convenient, our artist almost gave up in despair; but he
never quite gave up, and we owe what we have to his infinite patience.

Pyarie was the most troublesome of these small sitters, though she was
old enough to know better. My mother was with us when she came to us, a
tiny babe and very delicate. She had loved her and helped