back to baby ways, and taught her
how to laugh and play: and now there is nothing left to remind us of
those two first years but a certain droop of the little mouth when she
feels for the moment desolate, or wants some extra petting.

CHAPTER XIX

Yosepu

[Illustration: THE WATER CARRIERS.]

NO description of the compound would be complete without mention of
Yosepu, friend of the babies.

This photograph shows the Indian equivalent of pumps and water-pipes. We
have neither; so all the water required for a family of about a hundred
has to be drawn from the well and carried to the kitchens and nurseries.
The elder girls, who would otherwise help with the work, according to
South Indian custom, are already fully employed with the babies. So at
present the men do it all. They also buy the grain and other
food-stuffs, look after the cows and vegetable garden--a necessity for
those who dwell far from markets--and in all other possible masculine
ways are of service to the family.

Chief of these men is Yosepu, whose seamed and wrinkled and most
expressive face I wish we had photographed, instead of this not very
interesting string of solemnities.

Yosepu is not like a man, he is more like a dear dog. He has the ways of
our dog-friends, their patience and fidelity, their gratefulness for
pats.

He came to us in a wrecked condition, thin and weak and rather queer. He
had been beaten by his Hindu brother for becoming a Christian, and it
had been too much for him. The first time we saw him, a few minutes
after his arrival, he was standing leaning against a post with folded
hands and upturned eyes and a general expression of resignation which
went to our hearts. We found afterwards he was not feeling resigned so
much as hungry, and he was better after food.

For a week he slept, ate, and meditated. Sometimes he would hover round
us, if such a verb is admissible for his seriousness of gait. He would
wait till we noticed him, then sigh and extend his hand. He wanted us to
feel his pulse--both pulses. This ceremony always refreshed him, and he
would return to his corner of the verandah and meditate till his next
meal came.

Sometimes, however, more attention was required. He would linger after
his pulses were felt, and we knew he was not satisfied. One day a happy
thought struck us. The Tamil loves scent. The very babies sniff our
hands if we happen to be using scented soap, and tell each other
rapturously wha