ess to keep caste;
we welcomed every little child in danger of being given to Temples,
irrespective altogether of her caste. All castes were welcome to us, for
all were dear to our Lord. This was beyond him; and he declared he would
never have brought his child to us, had he understood it before. "Let
her die rather! There is no disgrace in death." As he talked and
expounded his views, he argued himself further and further away from us
in spirit, until he became disgusted with himself for ever having
considered giving the baby to us. All this time the baby lay asleep; and
as we looked at the little face and noted the "mother-want," the
appealing expression of pitiful weariness even in sleep, it was all we
could do to turn away and face the almost inevitable result of the
conversation. Once the father, a splendid looking man, tall and
dignified, rose and stood erect in sudden indignation. "Where is the
babe? I will take her away and do as I will with her. She is my child!"
We persuaded him to wait awhile as she was asleep, and we went away to
pray. Together we waited upon God, whose touch turns hard rocks into
standing water, and flint-stone into a springing well, beseeching Him to
deal with that father's heart, and make it melt and yield. And as we
waited it seemed as if an answer of peace were distinctly given to us,
and we rose from our knees at rest. But just at that moment the father
went to where his baby slept in her cradle, and he took her up and
walked away in a white heat of wrath.

The little one was in an exhausted condition, for she had not had
suitable food for at least three days. It was the time of our
land-winds, which are raw and cold to South Indian people; and it seemed
that the answer of peace must mean peace after death of cold and
starvation. It would soon be over, we knew; twenty-four hours, more or
less, and those great wistful eyes would close, and the last cry would
be cried. But even twenty-four hours seemed long to think of a child in
distress, and her being so little did not make it easier to think of her
dying like that. So on Sunday morning I shut myself up in my room asking
for quick relief for her, or--but this seemed almost asking too
much--that she might be given back to us. And as I prayed, a knock came
at the door, and a voice called joyously, "Oh, Amma! Amma! Come! The
father stands outside the church; he has brought the baby back!"

But the child was almost in collapse. Without a