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When the plan for Thursday was announced, both Mrs. Ashford and Mrs. Stokes objected to the little girls going so far into the woods by themselves; and nobody could go with them.
“Then we'll have no flowers for the ladies,” sighed Marty.
“And no more missionary money,” added Evaline.
“Why not give them flowers out of the garden?” said Mrs. Stokes. “Sakes alive! there's plenty there. And they're just the kind I've seen city folks going crazy over. Some of the hotel folks were up here last summer, and deary me! but they did make a to-do over my larkspur, sweet-william, china pinks, candytuft, cockscomb, and such. You just give the ladies some of 'em, and they'll be pleased enough; for there's hardly any flowers in Riseborough—too shady, I guess.”
“That's all well enough for Evaline,” said Mrs. Ashford, “but Marty has no right to sell your flowers.”
“She has if I give 'em to her, hasn't she?I'm sure she's welcome to every bloom in the garden to do what she pleases with. Not that I want my flowers sold; I'd rather give 'em to the ladies, but as long as it is for mission work—” and the good woman finished with a little nod.
But Mrs. Ashford still objected to Marty's taking the flowers, and Evaline would not have anything to do with the scheme unless Marty could “go halves.”
“Dear Mrs. Stokes,” said Marty, “can't you think of some way I could work for the flowers, and then mamma wouldn't object to my taking them?”
“Well, I'll tell you. The gravel walk 'round the centre bed is pretty tolerable weedy, and if you and Evaline'll weed it out nice and clean, you may have all the flowers you want all summer.”
That satisfied all parties, and the weeding began that afternoon. When Marty was going to do anything she always wanted to get at it right away. Besides Almira advised them to do some that afternoon.
“Then maybe you can finish it up to-morrow morning before the sun gets 'round there,” she said. “This is a very good time to do it too—just after the rain.”
The girls were armed with old knives—notvery sharp ones—to dig out the weeds with, if they would not come with pulling.
“You must be sure to get them up by the roots,” said Almira, “or they'll grow again before you know where you are.”
“Oh, we are going to do itgood,” Marty declared.
They divided the walk into sections, and set to work vigorously. In a few moments Marty remarked complacently,
“The bottom of my basket is quite covered with weeds. But then,” she added in a different tone, “I don't see where they came from. I hardly miss them out of the walk.”
A few moments more of quiet work, and she called out,
“Evaline, are many of your weeds intight?”
“Awful tight,” answered Evaline disconsolately. “They've got the longest roots of any weedsIever saw. 'T would take a week of rain to make this walk fit to weed.”
“Well,” said Marty, “of course it isn't just as easy as taking a quarter for some clematis that was given to us in the first place, but as it is for missions I think we ought to be willing to do it, even if it is a little hard.”
“That's so,” Evaline replied, brightening up.
“And I'm very glad your mother thought of this,” Marty went on, “for it would be dreadfuldisappointing not to have any flowers for the ladies when they come, and not to get any more missionary money.”
Again Evaline agreed with her, and the work went on.
In about half an hour there was quite a large clean patch, and much encouraged by seeing the progress they were making, they worked more diligently than ever. Then Marty had a sentimental idea that it might help them along to sing a missionary hymn, but found upon trial that it was more of a hindrance than a help.
“I can't sing when I'm all doubled up this way,” she said, “and anyway when I find a very tough weed I have to stop singing and pull. Then I forget what comes next.”
“I guess it's better to work while you work and sing afterward,” was Evaline's opinion.
Here they heard somebody laughing, and looking up saw Mrs. Ashford, who had come out to see how they were getting on.
“I think Evaline is about right,” she said; “singing and weeding don't go together very well. But how nicely you have been doing! Why, you are nearly half through!”
“Yes, ma'am,” said Evaline, “and the other side of the circle a'n't half so bad as this was. We'll easy get it done to-morrow morning.”
“Yes; and, mamma,” cried Marty, “we'vegot them out good. I don't believe there'll ever be another weed here!”
“They'll be as bad as ever after a while,” said Evaline, who knew them of old.
Marty was pretty tired that evening and did not feel like running about as much as usual.
“There now!” exclaimed Mrs. Stokes, looking at Marty as she sat on the porch steps after supper leaning back against her mother, “there now! you're all beat out. 'T was too hard work for you. I oughtn't to have let you do it.”
“Oh! indeed, Mrs. Stokes, I'm not so very tired,” cried Marty, “and I was glad to do it.”
Another hour's work the next morning finished the weeding, and the girls reflected with satisfaction that they had earned their flowers. Mrs. Stokes said the work was done “beautiful,” and Hiram, who was brought to inspect it, said they had done so well that he had a great mind to have them come down to the field and hoe corn.
Thursday morning early they gathered and put in water enough flowers for seven fair-sized bouquets, thinking they had better have one more than Miss Fanny mentioned in case an extra lady came. By four o'clock these flowers—and how lovely and fragrant they were!—with Mrs. Ashford's valuable assistance were made into tasteful bouquets, placed on an oldtray with their stems lightly covered with wet moss, and set in the coolest corner of the porch. The children, including Freddie, all nicely dressed, took up position on the steps, partly to keep guard over the flowers and prevent Ponto from lying down on them, and partly to watch for their callers.
Marty's bright eyes were the first to see the carriages.
“There they come around the bend!” she exclaimed, and shortly a carryall driven by Jim Dutton, and containing three ladies and two children, followed by a buck-board wherein sat Miss Fanny and Miss Dora, drew up at the gate.
Evaline's shyness came on in full force and she hung back, but Marty, with Freddie holding her hand, proceeded down the walk. They were met by Miss Fanny, who had thrown the reins to her friend and jumped out the moment the horse stopped. She kissed Marty, snatched up Freddie, exclaiming, “What a darling little boy!” and called out, “Come down here, Evaline! I want to see you.”
Mrs. Stokes, who was too hospitable to see people so near her house without inviting them in, now came forward to give the invitation, and as they were obliged to decline on the score of lateness, she called Almira to bring some coolspring water for them. Seeing Freddie approaching dangerously near one of the horses, Marty cried, “Freddie, Freddie, come away from the horse!” and he gravely inquired, “What's the matter with the poor old horse?”
This made every one laugh and brought Mrs. Ashford from the porch to take his hand and keep him out of danger. So they were all assembled at the roadside, and quite a pleasant, lively time they had.
The flowers were asked for and Evaline brought them, while Marty explained why they were garden instead of wild flowers, and Mrs. Stokes told how the girls earned them. The bouquets were extremely admired. When proposing the plan in the woods, Miss Fanny had suggested “ten-cent” bouquets, but everybody said ten cents was entirely too cheap for such large, beautifully arranged ones, that fifteen cents was little enough. There was one composed entirely of sweet peas, as Mrs. Ashford said those delicate flowers looked prettier by themselves. This Miss Fanny seized upon, insisted on paying twenty cents for, and presented to a pale, sweet-faced lady in mourning.
She drew Marty to the side of the carriage where this lady was, and said in a low voice,
“Mrs. Thurston, this is the little girl I told you of—the Missionary Twig who doesn'tleave her missionary zeal at home when she goes away in vacation.”
The lady smiled affectionately as she pressed Marty's hand, and said,
“I am glad to meet such an earnest little comrade.”
“Oh! but you don't know,” protested Marty. “I came very near forgetting the whole thing. Indeed, it went out of my head altogether from Tuesday till Sunday.”
The ladies laughed, and Miss Fanny said,
“Mrs. Thurston was a missionary in India for many years, Marty, and would be there yet if she was able.”
“India!” exclaimed Marty, with wide-open eyes. “In Lahore!”
She had heard more about Lahore than any other place, and to her it seemed like the principal city in India.
“Oh, no!” replied Mrs. Thurston. “Far from there, hundreds of miles. Lahore, you know, is in Northern India, in the part known as the Punjab, while my home was in the extreme south near a city called Madura. Are you especially interested in Lahore?”
“Yes, ma'am. It's where our band sends its money. We have a school there. That is, we pay the teacher. It is one of those little schools in a room rented from a poor woman, who doesher work in one corner while the school is going on, and the teacher is a native.”
“Ah, yes; I understand.”
“Mrs. C—— is the missionary who superintends it, along with a lot of other schools. Do you know her?”
“No, but I have seen her name in the missionary papers.”
“Did you have some of those little schools when you were a missionary, Mrs. Thurston?” Marty inquired.
“Yes, I did some school work, but more zenana work.”
“What is zenana work?”
Just then Mrs. Thurston noticed that preparations were being made to drive on, so she merely replied,
“Come down to the village and see me, and we will have a good missionary talk.”
“Thank you ever so much,” said Marty. “I do hope mamma will let me go.”
Evaline was quite overcome when she learned that Mrs. Thurston was a “real live missionary,” and said,
“She's the first one I ever saw. I wonder if they're all as nice as that.”
After consultation with her mother, Marty decided to give half her “flower money” —which altogether amounted to eighty cents—to themountain band, and keep the other half for the home band. “Because, you see, this is all out-and-out missionary money; there's no tithing to be done,” she said.
Evaline never felt so large in her life as she did when going to the band meeting the next Sunday, with her eighty cents ready to hand to Hugh Campbell.
The Saturday following that memorable Thursday, Miss Fanny and Miss Mary again presented themselves at the farmhouse, where they were welcomed like old friends. After some pleasant chat, and a lunch of gingerbread and fresh buttermilk, Miss Fanny said,
“We came this morning chiefly to bring you an invitation from Mrs. Thurston. She wants you all, or as many as possible, to come to an all-day missionary meeting at the hotel next Tuesday.”
“All day!” exclaimed Almira.
“Yes. That sounds formidable, doesn't it?” laughed Miss Fanny. “But I'll tell you about it. We are going to sew for a home missionary family. You must know that Mrs. Thurston, after spending the best part of her life and the greater part of her strength in the foreign field, still does all, in fact, more than her poor health will allow her to do for missions both at home and abroad. She heard the other day that amissionary family, acquaintances of hers, in Nebraska, had been burnt out, and lost everything but the clothes they had on. She told us about them with tears in her eyes, and some of us discovered she was laying aside some of her own clothes for the missionary's wife and planning how she could squeeze out a little money—for she is not rich by any means—to buy some clothes for the children. Well, the result was we took up a collection of clothes and money at the hotel, and Mrs. Thurston got Mr. Dutton to go to Trout Run and telegraph to the Mission Board that this missionary is connected with that we would send a box of things in a few days that will keep the family going until some church can send them a good large box.”
“But how will you know what kind of garments to send?” asked Mrs. Ashford. “I mean, what sizes?”
“Mrs. Thurston knows all about how many children there are, and their ages, so we can guess at their sizes.”
Mrs. Ashford, discovering there was a little girl near Freddie's age, and as he was, of course, yet in “girl's clothes,” said she could spare a couple of his suits, having brought an ample supply. Some of Marty's clothes also were found available.
“We have had some things given us for thelady,” said Miss Fanny, “a wrapper, a jersey, a cashmere skirt, a shawl; also two or three children's dresses. We have bought nearly all the muslin in Mr. Sims' store, with some flannel and calico. He is going to Johnsburgh Monday, and will get us shirts for the missionary, stockings, and such things. Monday is to be a grand cutting-out day. Tuesday we are to have three sewing-machines. Several of the village ladies are coming to help, and we shall be very glad if some of you will come. Mrs. Thurston particularly desires that the little girls shall come.”
“Oh, do let us go,” Marty said, while Evaline looked it.
Mrs. Ashford could not leave Freddie, and it was not possible for both Mrs. Stokes and Almira to go, so it was settled that the latter, the little girls, and Ruth Campbell, whom Miss Fanny wished Almira to invite, should walk down pretty early in the morning, and Hiram should bring the light wagon for them in the evening.
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“It was an elegant sewing-meeting,” Marty confided to her mother when she got home Tuesday evening, “and it wasn't a bit like that one Aunt Henrietta had the last time we were in Rochester. I liked this one best. There, you know, the ladies came all dressed up, carrying little velvet or satin work-bags, and we just had thin bread and butter and such things for tea—nothing very good. Here some of the ladies—of course I mean the ones from the village—came in calico dresses and sun-bonnets. And they were so free and easy—sewed fast and talked fast while they were there; and then if they had to go home a little bit, they'd just pop on their bonnets and off they'd go. Mrs. Clarkson thought it was going to rain, and she ran home to take in her wash, and another lady went home two or three times to see how her dinner was getting on.
“Some of them stayed at the hotel to dinner, and all that did stay brought something with them, pies mostly, though some brought pickles, preserves, and frosted cake. And everytime Mrs. Dutton saw something being smuggled through the hall she'd call out,
“'Now I told you not to bring anything. The dinner ismypart of this missionary meeting.'
“Then they'd all laugh. They were all real kind and pleasant. And such a dinner! I do believe we had some ofeverything. And supper was just the same way.”
The hotel, though the boast of the surrounding country, was a very plain establishment, being nothing more than a tolerably large, simply furnished frame house accommodating about forty persons. But it was bright and home-like and beautifully situated.
“Mrs. Thurston's meeting,” as they called it, was held in the large, uncarpeted dining-room, and the dinner tables were set in the shady back yard.
The sewing-room was a busy scene, with Miss Dora and two other ladies making the machines whir and groups of workers getting material ready for the machines or “finishing off.” Mrs. Thurston, appealed to from all sides, quietly directed the work,—while Miss Fanny was here, there, and everywhere, helping everybody. Almira heard, in the course of the day, that Miss Fanny was quite wealthy, that she had contributed a great deal towards getting up the box, and was going to pay the freight.
There were several children besides Marty and Evaline. They were employed to run errands, pass articles from one person to another, and fold the smaller pieces of clothing as they were completed. As the day wore on and the novelty of the thing wore off, most of the children got tired and went out to play; but Marty, though she ran out a few minutes occasionally, spent most of the time in the work-room, keeping as close as possible to Mrs. Thurston, to whom she had taken a great fancy.
Soon after dinner Miss Fanny came to Mrs. Thurston and said,
“Now, Mrs. Thurston, if you don't get out of this commotion a while you will have one of your bad headaches. Do go out in the air. We can get on without you for an hour.”
So Mrs. Thurston took Marty and went into the grove back of the house, and it was while sitting there on a rustic seat, with the magnificent view spread out before them, that they had their missionary talk.
While sitting there on a rustic seat ... they had their missionary talk. Page 158.
Mrs. Thurston described her home in Southern India, and spoke of the kind of work she and her husband did there—how he preached and taught in the city and surrounding villages; how she instructed children in the schools, and visited the ignorant women, both rich and poor, in their homes. Often, when not able to leavehome on account of her children, she had classes of poor women in hercompound, as the yards around the houses in India are called. She also spent a good deal of time giving her servants religious instruction.
“You know,” she said, “it is very, very hot there, and we Americans can only endure the heat by being very careful. At best we sometimes get sick, and we must do all we can to save ourselves up to teach and preach. That's what we go there for. If we should cook or do any work of that kind, we should die; so we employ the natives, who are accustomed to the heat, to do these things for us. Then, these servants will each do only one kind of work. That is, the sweeper wont do any cooking or washing; the man who buys the food and waits on the table wont do anything else.”
“That's very queer,” said Marty.
“Yes, but it is their way. So we are obliged to have several servants. But then the wages are very low. Altogether it does not cost any more, perhaps not as much, as one good girl would in this country. They are a great deal of trouble, too. They are not, as a rule, very honest or faithful, and they have, of course, all the heathen vices, and sometimes we have much worry with them. But what I was going to say is, that we do our best to teach these servantsabout God. We used to have them come in to prayers every day, and on Sunday I would collect them on the veranda and try to teach them verses of Scripture, which I would explain over and over again. On these occasions a good many poor, lame, blind people from the neighborhood would also come. These people were so densely ignorant that it was hard to make them understand anything, but in some cases I think the light did get into their minds.”
Then Mrs. Thurston told of the death of her three dear little children, and Marty felt very, very sorry for her when she spoke of the three little graves in that distant land.
“Haven't you any living children?” she asked.
“Yes, two. One of my sons is a missionary in Ceylon, and the other, with whom I live, is a minister in New York State.”
Then, it appeared, after many years of labor in that hot climate, the health of both Mr. and Mrs. Thurston broke down, and they were obliged to leave the work they loved and come back to America. In a short time Mr. Thurston died.
Marty found out, somewhat to her surprise, that the “big society” her band was connected with was not the only one. Mrs. Thurston belonged to an entirely different one, and theyoung ladies, Fanny, Dora, and Mary, to still another.
“You see we belong to different religious denominations,” said Mrs. Thurston, “and each denomination has its own Society or Board.”
“This Nebraska missionary, now,” suggested Marty, “I suppose he belongs to your de—whatever it is.”
“Denomination,” said Mrs. Thurston, smiling. “No, he belongs to yours.”
“Yet you are all working for him!” exclaimed Marty.
“Of course. It would not do for these different families of Christians to keep in their own little pens all the time and never help each other. But as yet it has been found best for each denomination to have its own missionary society, though there are some Union Societies, and perhaps in coming years it may be all union.”
“Now there's this mountain band,” said Marty reflectively. “The people in it are not all the same kind. I mean some are Methodists, and some are Presbyterians, and the Smiths are Baptists. I heard Ruth say she didn't know what would be best to do with their money.”
She afterwards heard Ruth consulting Mrs. Thurston about the matter, and the latter spoke of one of these union societies. Ruth said shewould speak to the others and see if they would wish to send their funds there.
By half-past four a great deal of work had been done, and the new garments were piled up on a table in the corner of the room. Though needles were still flying, taking last stitches, the hard-driven machines were silent, having run out of work, as Miss Fanny said. In the comparative quiet Ruth was heard singing softly over her work.
“Sing louder, Ruth,” said Almira, and Ruth more audibly, but still softly, sang,
“From Greenland's icy mountains.”
“From Greenland's icy mountains.”
One voice after another took up the refrain, and by the time the second line was reached the old hymn was sent forth on the air as a grand chorus. The children came up on the porch, the girls came out of the kitchen to listen. The customers in Sims' store and the loungers around the blacksmith's shop stopped talking as the sound reached them.
When the last strains died away, and before talking could be resumed, Ruth said,
“Marty, wont you say those verses you said at our last band meeting?”
“I'll say them if the ladies would like to hear them,” said Marty, who was not at all timid, and knew the verses very thoroughly,having recited them at the anniversary of her own band.
The ladies desired very much to hear them, and, taking her stand at one end of the room, she repeated very nicely those well-known lines beginning,
“An aged woman, poor and weak,She heard the mission teacher speak;The slowly-rolling tears came downUpon her withered features brown:'What blessed news from yon far shore!Would I had heard it long before!'”
“An aged woman, poor and weak,She heard the mission teacher speak;The slowly-rolling tears came downUpon her withered features brown:'What blessed news from yon far shore!Would I had heard it long before!'”
“How touching that is!” said one of the hotel ladies, and Mrs. Sims was seen to wipe her eyes with the pillow-slip she was seaming.
“Mrs. Thurston,” said Miss Fanny, who saw that a good start on a foreign missionary meeting had been made, and was not willing to let the opportunity be lost, “when you were in India did you meet many persons who were anxious to hear the gospel, or were they mainly indifferent?”
In replying to this question Mrs. Thurston told many interesting things that had come under her observation, and this led to further questions from others, so they had quite a long talk on missionary work both in India and other countries. Finally one of the boarders asked,
“Well, do you think the world ever will be converted to Christianity?”
“I know it will,” replied Mrs. Thurston; and she quoted, “All the ends of the world shall remember and turn unto the Lord; and all kindreds of the nations shall worship before thee.”
Fanny.“For it is written, As I live, saith the Lord, every knee shall bow to me, and every tongue shall confess to God.”
Dora.“The earth shall be full of the knowledge of the Lord, as the waters cover the sea.”
Ruth.“He shall have dominion also from sea to sea, and from the river unto the ends of the earth.”
“Dora, Dora,” said Miss Fanny, with an imperative little gesture, “'Jesus shall reign'” —
Miss Dora obediently began to sing,
“Jesus shall reign where'er the sunDoes his successive journeys run,”
“Jesus shall reign where'er the sunDoes his successive journeys run,”
and was at once joined by the others.
“Now, dear friends,” said Mrs. Thurston, when the hymn was finished, “upon this, the only occasion we are all likely to be together, shall we not unite in asking God to hasten the coming of this glorious time, and ask for his blessing on our humble attempts to work in this cause?”
Work was dropped and every head bowed, as Mrs. Thurston uttered fervent words of prayer that the Lord would fill all their hearts with lovefor missions, and that he would permit them to do something towards helping in the work. She prayed especially for the children who were engaged in missionary work, and asked that they might have grace given them to devote their whole lives to the service of God.
“Well,” said Mrs. Clarkson, as she was leaving, “this has been a right down pleasant meeting, and I think the last part was just about the best.”
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Two or three days afterwards Miss Fanny, with one of her young friends, came up to tell the farmhouse people that the box had gone. She said that Mr. Sims had given them a box, and had also kindly attended to sending it off.
The day after the meeting, when Hiram went down to the postoffice, Marty and Evaline had each sent by him a book for the missionary children, and Miss Fanny said that this prompted some of the children at the hotel to send books.
During the remainder of the summer there was frequent intercourse between the hotel and the farmhouse, and the “mission workers,” particularly, learned to love each other very much. Marty felt very proud to be numbered among these workers, though she was only a “twig.” She said,
“I'll have a great deal to tell Miss Agnes and the girls when I go home—sha'n't I, mamma?”
Some new members joined the mountain band, and by the last of August it numbered twenty-one. Ruth said she wished very muchthat before Mrs. Thurston left they might have her meet with the band. She thought they would all take greater interest in mission work if they could hear something of it from one who had spent so many years in the midst of it. Mrs. Thurston said she would be very happy to attend a meeting and talk with the members. So arrangements were made to have her do so.
It would be impossible for her to reach the grove, as she could not walk so far, and the drive from the hotel to Mr. Campbell's was very rough and quite long.
“Mother,” said Almira, when they were trying to settle the matter, “couldn't we have a meeting here? It would be easier for Mrs. Thurston to get here, and convenient enough for everybody else.”
“Why, of course they may meet here,” her mother replied. “Our parlor's a plenty big enough to hold 'em.”
“Oh! dear Mrs. Stokes,” protested Marty, “don't let us meet in the house when there's so much lovely out-of-doors. That grassy place in the garden near the currant-bushes would be just an elegant place for a meeting.”
“I vote with Marty for out-of-doors,” said Ruth. “We'll have enough times for in-door meetings after a while.”
“Suit yourselves,” said kind Mrs. Stokes.“You're welcome to any place I've anything to do with.”
“And may some of the rest of us from the hotel come?” asked Miss Fanny, who happened to be present when this talk was going on.
“Yes, indeed. The more the—.” Mrs. Stokes was just going to say, as she so often did, “the more the merrier,” when she recollected that it would be Sunday and the meeting a religious one. But she let them all know she would like them to come. Mrs. Ashford and Ruth had great difficulty in persuading her not to bake a quantity of cake on Saturday and serve refreshments to the band.
“You must remember, dear Mrs. Stokes,” said Ruth, “it isn't a party, and nobody will expect anything to eat. Now you must not think of going to any trouble.”
“The idee of having a lot of people come to your house and not give 'em a bite of anything!” exclaimed Mrs. Stokes.
Sunday afternoon chairs were carried out to the grassy spot Marty had selected, among them a comfortable arm-chair for Mrs. Thurston. Marty insisted on farmer Stokes' special arm-chair being carried out for him, and with the help of Wattie Campbell contrived to get it there. Hiram, before he drove down to the hotel for the ladies, made a couple of benches ofboards placed on kegs. These were for the girls. The boys, he said, could sit on the ground, and that is where he sat himself.
Mrs. Thurston brought with her a cloth map of India which the young ladies fastened to two trees. She also had some photographs of people and places in India which were passed around among the company. Mr. Stokes was particularly struck with the beautiful scenery these pictures showed.
“Well,” he said, “I never knew much about India, but I had no idea it was such a handsome place.”
“Oh, yes,” said Mrs. Thurston, “the scenery in some parts of these tropical countries is very fine, the foliage is so luxuriant, the flowers so gorgeous, the skies so brilliant. Indeed, a photograph only gives the merest hint of the beauties.”
She described certain mountain and forest views, also some parks and gardens she had visited.
“Don't you remember those lines in the missionary hymn, Mr. Stokes,” Miss Dora asked,
“'Where every prospect pleases,And only man is vile'?”
“'Where every prospect pleases,And only man is vile'?”
Mrs. Thurston told them that the people in India do not live on farms as many do in thiscountry, but crowd together in towns and villages, going out from there to work in the fields. She briefly described the large city of Madras, with its mingled riches and poverty, its streets crowded with all sorts of people, some of them with hardly any clothing on, its temples and bazaars, or shops. Then she spoke of Madura, where her home had been so long.
It was hard to get her listeners, as they sat in this cool, shady garden, fanned by mountain breezes, to understand how hot it is in India, especially Southern India. They thought thepunkahs, or huge fans, that are in all the churches and larger houses, and which a man works constantly to cool the air, must be very queer contrivances. The idea of having to stay indoors during the middle of the day, keeping very still, lying down, perhaps, did not strike Mrs. Stokes very favorably.
“That wouldn't suit me,” she said—“ to lie down in the daytime and be fanned. I'd want to be up and doing.”
“I fear even your energy would flag in that climate,” replied Mrs. Thurston, laughing. “Foreigners are obliged to be very careful or they could not live there at all. Of course we missionaries were not idle at the time I speak of. We were studying, writing, or making arrangements about our work.”
She then told a good deal about the way the missionaries work among the people, taking her hearers with her in imagination to some of the mission-schools, and to the Sunday services in the little church where her husband had preached. In doing this she repeated a passage of Scripture and sang a hymn in the Tamil language—the language used in that part of India.
“Now I will tell you something of zenana visiting,” she said.
“Mrs. Thurston,” said Ruth, “wont you please first tell us exactly what a zenana is?” Ruth knew herself, but she was afraid some of the others did not.
“The word zenana,” replied Mrs. Thurston, “strictly means women's apartment, but as it is generally used by us it means the houses of the high caste gentlemen, where their wives live in great seclusion. These high caste women very seldom go out, except occasionally to worship at some temple. They live, as we would say, at the back of the house, their windows never facing the street. Sometimes they have beautiful gardens and pleasant rooms, but often it is just the other way. They have few visitors and no male visitors at all, never seeing even their own brothers. The low caste women, though they lack many privileges the othershave, yet have more freedom and are not secluded in this way.”
“I'd rather be low caste,” said Marty.
“You wouldn't rather be either if you knew all about it,” said Miss Fanny.
“In visiting the poorer people,” Mrs. Thurston went on to say, “when I was seen to enter a house the neighbors all around would flock in, so that I could talk with several families at once. But in visiting a zenana I only saw the inhabitants of that one house. To be sure there was generally quite a crowd of them, for the rich gentlemen often have several wives. Then there would be the daughters-in-law, for the sons all bring their wives to their father's house. Then all these ladies have female servants to wait on them and who are constantly present, so altogether there would be quite a company.”
“I suppose they would be glad to see you,” suggested Mrs. Ashford.
“Oh, yes. They welcome any change, their lives are so dull.”
“What do they do with themselves all day long?” inquired Miss Fanny. “I suppose they don't work, as they have plenty of servants to do everything for them. They don't shop or market or visit. They have no lectures or concerts to attend. They are not educated, at leastnot many of them; and even if they could read, they have no books. Oh, what a life!”
“What do they do, Mrs. Thurston?” Marty asked.
“Well, they look over their clothes and jewels, spend a great deal of time every day in being bathed in their luxurious way, and being dressed. Then they lounge about, gossip, and quarrel a good deal, I suspect. They are very fond of hearing what is going on, and the servant who brings them the most news is the greatest favorite.”
“And that's the way so many women have lived for centuries!” sighed Ruth.
“Things are improving somewhat now,” said Mrs. Thurston. “Education for women is very much more thought of than in former years. A great many girls are now allowed to attend the Government and other schools, and many men in these days are anxious to have their wives educated. Some employ teachers to come to their houses and teach the inmates. If only all these women could receive a Christian education, India would soon be a delightfully different place.”
“How do the missionaries get into these zenanas?” Ruth inquired. “Do they go as teachers or visitors or—what?”
“In some cases missionary ladies have gainedadmission by going to teach these shut-in ladies fancy-work or something of the kind. Other times they contrive to get introduced in some way, going as visitors. But in every case they aim to make their visit the means of carrying the gospel to these women.”
“Are they willing to have you talk on religious subjects?” asked Mrs. Ashford.
“Some of them are not. You know there is, of course, as much diversity among them as among any other women. But after they have got used to our coming, and have examined our clothes and asked us all sorts of questions, some of them very childish ones, they generally listen to what we wish to say and become interested in the Bible and the story of the cross.”
Mrs. Thurston then spoke particularly of some of the houses she used to visit, told about the pretty little children and their pretty young mothers, what they all did and said, in a way that interested her hearers very much. She also told how some of these friends of hers had received the gospel message and were converted to Christ. “And if you only understood the position of these people under this dreadful caste system, you would see what difficulties they have to contend with before they can come out on the Lord's side,” she said. “But it is our duty and privilege to show them the right way,the way of life, and shall we not do all in our power to send them the gospel? Those of them who know about free and happy America are looking to us for help. Did you ever hear some verses called 'Work in the Zenana'? I can repeat a couple of them.”
“'Do you see those dusky facesGazing dumbly to the West—Those dark eyes, so long despairing,Now aglow with hope's unrest?“'They are looking, waiting, longingFor deliverance and light;Shall we not make haste to help them,Our poor sisters of the night?'”
“'Do you see those dusky facesGazing dumbly to the West—Those dark eyes, so long despairing,Now aglow with hope's unrest?
“'They are looking, waiting, longingFor deliverance and light;Shall we not make haste to help them,Our poor sisters of the night?'”
There was a great deal more talk about India, Mrs. Thurston being besieged with questions, until Ruth feared she would be worn out, and said the meeting had better close.
“Oh! I like to talk about my dear India,” said Mrs. Thurston with a tearful smile; “and if it is any help to you all in your work, I am only too willing to give you the help.”
“You have helped us ever so much,” replied Ruth, “and we are very grateful. I'm sure we shall always feel the greatest interest in that wonderful old India, with its sore need of the gospel.”
“Yes,” said Almira, “I feel now that every cent of money we can scrape together should be used for India.”
“Unfortunately it is not the only needy place in the world,” said Miss Mary.
“Well,” said Ruth, “we must just work hard and do all we can for heathen lands.”
Then they sang several hymns, Hiram and Hugh Campbell having carried Almira's melodeon out to the garden, and closed by repeating the Lord's prayer in concert.
During the singing Mrs. Stokes had slipped away, and Mrs. Ashford and Ruth exchanged smiling glances when they saw her standing by the garden-gate as the friends passed out, insisting that they should take some cookies and drop cakes from a basket she held. She would not hear of the hotel ladies getting into the carriage until they had partaken of the sliced cake and hot tea she had ready for them on the side porch.
“Ah, this is the way you get around it, Mrs. Stokes!” said Ruth.
“Now, Ruth,” exclaimed the good woman, “don't you say a word. I a'n't going to have these folks go back home all fagged out when a cup of tea will do 'em good.”
“This is another perfectly elegant missionary meeting,” said Marty. “I wonder if Edith and the other girls are having as good a time as I am.”