and we go in; and after a long and
earnest talk the white-haired grandmother touches her rosary. "This is
my ladder to heaven." The berries are fine and set in chased gold, but
they are only solidified tears, tears shed in wrath by their god, they
say, which resolved themselves into these berries. How can tears make
ladders to heaven? She does not know. She does not care. And a laugh
runs round, but one's heart does not laugh. Such ladders are dangerous.

Another house; here the men are kind, and freely let us in and out. The
Way, they say, is very good; they have heard the Iyer preach. But one
day there is a stir in the house. One of the sons is very ill. He has
been suffering for some time; now he is suddenly getting worse, and
suspicions are aroused. Then the women whisper the truth: the father and
he are at daggers drawn, and the father is slowly poisoning him--small
doses of strychnine are doing the work. The stir is not very violent,
but quite sufficient to make an excuse for not wanting to listen well.
This sort of thing throws us back upon God. Lord, teach us to pray!
Teach us the real secret of fiery fervency in prayer. We know so little
of it. Lord, teach us to pray!

"_Oh, Amma! Amma! do not pray! Your prayers are troubling me!_"

We all looked up in astonishment. We had just had our Band Prayer
Meeting, when a woman came rushing into the room, and began to exclaim
like this. She was the mother of one of our girls, of whom I told you
once before. She is still in the Terrible's den. Now the mother was all
excitement, and poured out a curious story.

"When you went away last year I prayed. I prayed and prayed, and prayed
again to my god to dispel your work. My daughter's heart was impressed
with your words. I cried to my god to wash the words out. Has he washed
them out? Oh no! And I prayed for a bridegroom, and one came; and the
cart was ready to take her away, and a hindrance occurred; the marriage
fell through. And I wept till my eyes well-nigh dissolved. And again
another bridegroom came, and again an obstacle occurred. And yet again
did a bridegroom come, and yet again an obstacle; and I cannot get my
daughter 'tied,' and the neighbours mock, and my Caste is
disgraced"--and the poor old mother cried, just sobbed in her shame and
confusion of face. "Then I went to my god again, and said, 'What more
can I offer you? Have I not given you all I have? And you reject my
prayer!' Then in a dream my god appear