swer will leave no doubt whether she
believes it worth while.

Actual decision for Christ was a thing of slow growth, its roots far
back in memories of bright-covered Gospels and convent prayers, fruit of
open confession maturing only during her years of service at Guntur.
Life in the Madras Y.W.C.A. had much to do with it. There were Indian
Christian girls, fellow students. "No," said Dr. Paru, "they didn't talk
much about it; they had Christian ideals and tried to live them." There
was a secretary, too, who entered into her life as a friend. "Paru," she
said at last, "you are neither one thing nor the other. If you aren't
going to be a Christian, go back and be a Hindu. At least, be
something." At Guntur there were the experiences of Christian service
and fellowship. Finally, there were words spoken at a Christian meeting,
"words that seemed meant for me"; and then the great step was taken, and
Dr. Paru entered into the liberty that has made her free to appear
outwardly what she long had been at heart.

Such are a few of those Indian women whom one delights to honor. They
broke through walls of custom and tradition and forced their way into
the open places of life. Few they are and widely scattered, yet their
influence is past telling.

To-day Lucknow, Madras, and Vellore are sending out each year their
quota of educated women, ready to find their place in the world's work.
It gives one pause, and the desire to look into the future--and dream.
Ten years hence, twenty, fifty, one hundred! What can the dreamer and
the prophet foretell? When those whom we now count by fives and tens are
multiplied by the hundred, what will it mean for the future of India and
the world? What of the gladness of America through whose hand,
outstretched to share, there has come the release of these latent powers
of India's womanhood?

But what of the powers not released? What of the "mute, inglorious"
company of those who have had no chance to become articulate? There
among the road-menders, going back and forth all day with a basket of
crushed stone upon her head, toils a girl in whose hand God has hidden
the cunning of the surgeon. No one suspects her powers, she least of
all, and that undeveloped skill will die with her, undiscovered and
unapplied. "To what purpose is this waste?"

Into your railway carriage comes the young wife of a rajah. Hidden by a
canopy of crimson silk, she makes her aristocratic entrance concealed
from the co