e kitchen may command the bungalow. "While I stirred the milk I
saw everything you did on your verandah," remarked one of the workers
lately, in tones of appreciation. The opposite outlook is the mountain
shown in the photograph; only instead of water we have the
kitchen-garden with its tropical-looking plantains and creeping marrows.
"And the warm melon lay like a little sun on the tawny sand," is a line
for an Eastern garden when the great marrows ripen suddenly.

The kitchen thus favoured without, is adorned within, according to the
taste of its owners, with those very interesting pictures published by
the makers of infant foods. "How do you choose them?" we asked one day.
"The truest and the prettiest," was the satisfactory answer. Our
Dohnavur text, which hangs in every nursery, looks down upon the
workers, and, as they put it, "keeps them sweet in heart": "Love never
faileth."

When first we began to cultivate babies we were very ignorant, and we
asked advice of all who seemed competent to give it. The advice was most
perplexing. Each mother was sure the food that had suited her baby was
the best of all foods, and regarded all others as doubtful, if not bad.
One whom we greatly respected told us Indian babies would be sure to get
on anyhow, as it was their own land. And one seriously suggested
rice-water as a suitable nourishment. Naturally we began with the
time-honoured milk and barley-water, and some throve upon it. But we
found each baby had to be studied separately. There was no universal
(artificial) food. We could write a tractlet on foods, and if we did we
would call it "Don't," for the first sentence in it would be, "Don't
change the food if you can help it." This tractlet would certainly close
with a word of thanks to those kind people, the milk-food manufacturers,
who have helped us to build up healthy children; for feelings of
personal gratitude come when help of this kind is given.

The nursery kitchen is a room full of reminders of help. "I have
commanded the ravens," is a word of strength to us. Once we were very
low. A little child had died under trying circumstances. One of the
milk-sellers, instead of using the vessel sent him, poured his milk
into an unclean copper vessel, and it was poisoned. He remembered that
it would not be taken unless brought in the proper vessel, so at the
last moment he corrected his mistake, but the correction was fatal, for
there was no warning. The milk was steriliz