l desire to hear. But we are helped; we are not alone. It is
always a strength to remember that.

Once fairly launched, interruptions begin. You are in the middle of a
miracle, perhaps, and by this time a dozen women have gathered, and
rejoice your heart by listening well, when a man from the opposite side
of the street saunters over and asks may he put a question, or asks it
forthwith. He has heard that our Book says, that if you have faith you
can lift a mountain into the sea. Now, there is a mountain, and he
points to the pillar out on the plain, standing straight up for five
thousand feet, a column of solid rock. There is sea on the other side,
he says; cast it in, and we will believe! And the women laugh. But one
more intelligent turns to you, "Does your Book really say that?" she
asks, "then why can't you do it, and let us see?" And the man strikes in
with another remark, and a woman at the edge moves off, and you wish the
man would go.

Perhaps he does, or perhaps you are able to detach him from the visible,
and get him and those women too to listen to some bit of witnessing to
the Power that moves the invisible, and you are in its very heart when
another objection is started: "You say there is only one true God, but
we have heard that you worship three!" or, "Can your God keep you from
sin?" And you try, God helping you, to answer so as to avoid discussion,
and perhaps to your joy succeed, and some are listening intently again,
when a woman interrupts with a question about your relations which you
answered before, but she came late, and wants to hear it all over again.
You satisfy her as far as you can, and then, feeling how fast the
precious minutes are passing, you try, oh so earnestly, to buy them up
and fill them with eternity work, when suddenly the whole community
concentrates itself upon your Tamil sister. Who is she? You had waived
the question at the outset, knowing what would sequel it, but they renew
the charge. If she is a "born Christian," they exclaim, and draw away
for fear of defilement--"Low-caste, low-caste!" and the word runs round
contemptuously. If she is a convert, they ask questions about her
relations (they have probably been guessing among themselves about her
Caste for the last ten minutes); if she does not answer them, they let
their imagination run riot; if she does, they break out in indignation,
"Left your own mother! Broken your Caste!" and they call her by names
not sweet to the