is arm is as good as ever, and he hardly runs
stiff at all now."

"My husband has gone to visit two men from Burmah, and I felt terribly
deserted and lonely. It is good of you to come, Mrs. Kachin."

"I am also glad of a companion," replies Elizabeth. "Big Tombo has
gone to superintend the 'Jhooming' and the boy is with him."

"What is Jhooming?" asks Eleanor.

"Oh! don't you know, they cut down the trees once a year, and burn them
when they are quite dry. Then plough the ground, ploughing in all the
ash, and sow when the rain comes, scattering the seeds broadcast."

"What busy lives the natives lead! It makes me feel so idle," says
Eleanor, stretching her arms. "Yet I love this beautiful country, and
enjoy to sit and dream. My days are one long siesta; I am never really
awake."

"Ah! you don't work in your home as I do. All this morning I was
making clothing for little Tombo on my loom, yet I, too, am happy, Mrs.
Quinton. Perhaps you wonder how it is that I married big Tombo. We
met in England when I was quite a girl. He was the only honest man it
had been my fate to know. I was an unfortunate child, nameless from my
birth, yet loved honour and virtue more than anything on earth. My
mother was always lenient and kind, but when I grew old enough to
realise the wrong she had done me I abhorred her! My marriage released
me from a hateful and unwholesome home. I was glad to leave the
country in which I first learnt to despise the woman I called by the
sacred name of 'mother.'"

Eleanor is pale to the lips, she trembles all over as she listens to
Elizabeth.

"I sometimes hear from her now, but she knows my feelings towards her."

"Poor woman!" cries Eleanor, speaking suddenly as if compelled against
her will. "You, in your quiet life, with big Tombo, cannot guess the
temptations she may have faced. You judge her very harshly. She was
kind to you, and it is your duty to love her. You prize virtue and
honour, yet do not hesitate to hate and abhor your own flesh and blood."

"It is easy to dictate to others. But if you were to meet that woman,
and knew her history, you would pull your skirts aside, for fear they
might brush her in passing."

Eleanor shakes her head.

"Oh, no," she says sorrowfully. "I would take her by the hand, and
call her 'Sister.'"

"Then you are the right sort of Christian," replies Elizabeth. "I
cannot feel that way, because I suffered for her sin--Heaven only knows