ere;
and Devai, whose scent is keen where little "Its" are concerned, made
friends with the men, and got the information she wanted from them.
Careful work resulted in a little child's salvation; but Devai hardly
dared believe it safe until she reached Dohnavur. When that occurred we
were all at church; for special services were being held in week-day
evenings, and old Devai had to possess her soul in patience till we came
out of church. Then there was a rush round to the nursery, and an eager
showing of the "It." I shall never forget the pang of disappointment and
apprehension. Several little ones had been sent to us who could not
possibly live; and the nurses had got overborne, and we dreaded another
strain for them. It was a tiny thing, three pounds and three-quarters of
pale brown skin and bone. Its face was a criss-cross of wrinkles, and it
looked any age. But "Man looketh upon the outward appearance" would have
been assuredly quoted to us, regardless of context, had we ventured upon
a remark to old Devai, who poured forth the story of its salvation in
vivid sentences. Next evening the old grannie of the compound told us
the baby could not live till morning. She laid it on a mat and regarded
it critically, felt its pulses (both wrists), examined minutely its eyes
and the bridge of its nose: "No, not till morning. Better have the grave
prepared, for early morning will be an inconvenient hour for digging."
Others confirmed her diagnosis, and sorrowfully the order was given and
the grave was dug.

But the baby lived till morning; and though for two years it needed a
nurse to itself, and over and over again all but left us, this baby has
grown one of our healthiest; and now when old Devai comes to see us she
looks at it, and then to Heaven, and sighs with gratitude.

CHAPTER X

Failures?

BUT sometimes old Devai brings us little ones who do not come to stay.
Failures, the world would call them. Twice lately this has happened, and
each time unexpectedly; for the babies had stories which seemed to imply
a promise of future usefulness. Surely such a deliverance must have been
wrought for something special, we say to ourselves, and refuse to fear.

One dear little fat "fair" baby was brought to us as a surprise, for we
had not heard of her. It had seemed so improbable that Devai could get
her, that she had not written to us to ask us to pray her through the
battle, as she usually does. The sound of the bullock