spoke to one of our Band in a hurried
little whisper. "Oh, I do want to hear about Jesus!" And she told how
she had learnt at school in her own town, and then she had been sent to
her mother-in-law's house in this jungle village, "that one," pointing
to a house where they never had smiles for us; but her mother-in-law
objected to the preaching, and had threatened to throw her down the well
if she listened to us. Just then a hard voice called her, and she flew.
Next time we went to that village she was shut up somewhere inside.

Often as one passes one sees shy faces looking out from behind the
little pillars which support the verandahs, and one longs to get
nearer. But it does not do to make any advance unless one is sure of
one's ground. It only results in a sudden startled scurrying into the
house, and you cannot follow them there. To try to do so would be more
than rude--it would be considered pollution.

Only yesterday we were trying to get to the women who live in the great
house of the village behind the bungalow. This photo shows you the door
we stood facing for ten minutes or more, first waiting, and then
pleading with the old mother-in-law to let us in to the little dark room
in which you may see a woman's form hiding behind the door.

But we could not go to them, and they could not come to us. There were
only two narrow rooms between, but the second of the two had brass
water-vessels in it. If we had gone in, those vessels and the water in
them would have been defiled. The women were not allowed to come out,
the mother-in-law saw well to that; never was one more vigilant. She
stood like a great fat hen at the door, with her white widow's skirts
outspread like wings, and guarded her chickens effectually. "Go! go by
the way you have come!" was all she had to say to us.

The friendly old man of the house was out. A friendly young man came in
with some rice, and began to measure it. He invited us to sit down,
which we did, and he measured the rice in little iron tumblers, counting
aloud as he did so in a sing-song chant. He was pleased that we should
watch him, and it was interesting to watch, for he did it exactly as the
verse describes, pressing the rice down, shaking the iron measure,
heaping up the rice till it was running over, and yet counting this
abundant tumblerful only as one; then he handed the basketful of rice
to a child who stood waiting, and asked what he could do for us. We told
him how much we