g on in Neyoor, Chellalu, then just two years
old, was very ill in Dohnavur. Mr. and Mrs. Walker were still there, and
they nursed her night and day; but at last a letter came, evidently
meant to prepare me for fresh sorrow. "Every little lamb belongs to the
Good Shepherd, not to us," the letter said, and told of a temperature
106 deg. and rising. The child, all spirit and frolic, had little reserve
strength, and there was not much cause for hope. But we were spared this
parting. Chellalu is with us still.

The sky was clearing again and we were beginning to breathe freely, when
the worst that had ever touched us in all our years of work came
suddenly upon us. How small things that affect the body appear when the
point of attack wheels round to the soul! The death of all the babies
seemed as nothing compared with the falling away of one soul. But God is
the God of the waves and the billows, and they are still His when they
come over us; and again and again we have proved that the overwhelming
thing does not overwhelm. Once more by His interposition deliverance
came. We were cast down, but not destroyed.

A time of calm succeeded this storm. Money came to build nurseries at
Dohnavur, and buy more of the special nutrients we so much required. The
Neyoor remnant picked up, and the nurses took heart again. I went out to
them as soon as I could after our return from the hills, and found those
who were left well and strong. "They shall see His face" had been the
text in _Daily Light_, the evening the news reached me of the little
procession heavenwards. I looked at the ten names written in the margin
of my book; and, recalling the story of each, could be glad they have
seen the face of the One who loves them best. Lower down on the page
come the words, "We shall be satisfied." We thought of our babies
satisfied so soon; and then we knelt together and said, "Even so,
Father: for so it seemeth good in Thy sight."

Pretty pictures all in colours and bright sunshine tempt one to linger
over that visit. I can see the white hammocks slung from the trees in
the nursery compound, and happy baby-faces looking out of them. And
another shows me one who had been like a sister to Ponnamal, lightening
her load whenever she could; sitting with two dear babies in her arms,
and another clinging round her neck. "She comes and helps us often in
the mornings when we are very busy," said Ponnamal about the doctor's
wife, as I noticed the babies