Why did it follow her
everywhere? Life, haunted by a camera, was not worth living--in which
sentiment some of us heartily concur.

Once an attempt was made when Pyarie and two other little girls were
busily playing on the doorstep. Pyarie soon perceived and expressed her
opinion about the fraud--for the camera's stealthy approach could not be
kept from the children. "Disgusting!" she remarked in explicit young
Tamil, and looked disgusted. The photograph which resulted was perfect
in detail of little rounded limb and curly head, but it was lamentable
as regards expression; so once more our persevering friend tried to
catch her unawares. He showed us the result at breakfast in the shape of
a negative which we recognised as Pyarie. He seemed very pleased. "Look
at the pose!" he said. There was pose certainly, but where was the
smile? Pyarie's one idea had evidently been to ward off something or
someone; and our artist explained it by saying that in despair of
getting her quiet for one second, he had directed his servant to climb
an almost overhanging tree, and the child apparently thought he was
going to tumble on the top of her, and objected. "I got another of her
smiling beautifully, but the plate is cracked," we were told, after the
table had admired the pose. That is a way plates have. The one you most
want cracks.

Poor little Pyarie; we sometimes fear lest her "pose" should be too
true of her. She takes life hardly, and often protests. "_I_ want a
birthday!"--this was only yesterday, when everyone was rejoicing over a
birthday jubilation. Pyarie alone was sorrowful. She stood by her poor
little lonely self, with her head thrown back and her mouth wide open,
and her tears ran into her open mouth as she wailed: "Aiyo! Aiyo! (Alas!
Alas!) _I_ want a birthday!"

[Illustration: "'LOOK AT THE POSE!'

He said. There was pose, certainly, but where was the smile?" (_Page
28._)]

But she is such a loving child, so loyal to her own and so unselfish to
all younger things, that we hope for her more than we fear. And yet
underneath there is a fear; and we ask those who can understand to
remember this little one sometimes, for the world is not always kind to
its poor little foolish Pyaries.

I am writing in the afternoon, and two little people are playing on the
floor. One has a picture-book, and the other is looking eagerly as she
turns the pages and questions: "What is it? What is it?" I notice it is
always Pyarie who as