ining through the
rent of the clouds, and the red-tiled roofs and the scarlet flowers of
the Flame of the Forest, and every tint and colour which would respond
in any way, were aglow with the beauty of it. The Brahman quarter was
set in the deep green of shadowy trees; just behind it the mountains
rose outlined in mist, and out of the mist a waterfall gleamed white
against blue.

We spent Afternoon Number Three in the Village of the Warrior, a lonely
little place, left all by itself on a great rough moorland--if you can
call a patch of bare land "moor" which is destitute of heather, and
grows palms and scrub in clumps instead. It took us rather a long time
to get to it, over very broken ground on a very hot day; but when we did
get there we found such a good opening that we forgot about our
feelings, and entered in rejoicing. There were some little children
playing at the entrance to the village, and they led us straight to
their own house, making friends in the most charming way as they
trotted along beside us. They told us their family history, and we told
them as much of ours as was necessary, and they introduced us to their
mothers as old acquaintances. The mothers were indulgent, and let us
have a room all to ourselves in the inner courtyard, where a dozen or
more children gathered and listened with refreshing zest. _They_
understood, dear little things, though so often their elders did not.

Then the mothers got interested, and sat about the door. The girls were
with me. (We usually divide into two parties; the elder and more
experienced Sisters go off in one direction, and the young convert-girls
come with me.) And before long, Jewel of Victory was telling out of a
full heart all about the great things God had done for her. She has a
very sweet way with the women, and they listened fascinated. Then the
others spoke, and still those women listened. They were more intelligent
than our audience of yesterday; and though they did not follow nearly
all, they listened splendidly to the story-part of our message. In the
meaning, as is often the case, their interest was simply nil.

But we were sorry, and I think so were they, when a commotion outside
disturbed us, and we were sorrier when we knew the cause. The village
postman, who only visits these out-of-the-way places once a week, had
appeared with a letter for the head of the house. One of the men folk
had read it. It told of the death of the son in foreign parts--