Our narrative has now brought us to a point where an apparently trivial circumstance became the occasion of an event not only of utmost importance to us and to our work, but of far-reaching consequences to the country at large. Sometime near the middle of this year, 1878, the eldest daughter of Nān Inta was to be married to a Christian young man studying for the ministry. Both parties at that time were virtually members of our family. The expected bride was a pupil of Mrs. McGilvary’s, and the groom was a private pupil of mine. The immediate family connections on both sides were Christians. Inasmuch as this was the first Christian marriage in the church, we had prepared to celebrate it with a little wedding feast. Besides the Christians, a few princes and a few special friends were invited, all anxious to see a Christian marriage ceremony. Among the invited guests was Chao Tēpawong, Nān Inta’s liege-lord, and brother of the Uparāt. We learned that the family patriarch—known to be a violent opposer of Christianity—had threatened to prevent the marriage, unless we first paid to him, as tribal head of the family, the spirit-fee originally designed to furnish a feast for the spirits. It was a small sum—among common people not more than six rupees. That payment would legalize marriage without any further ceremony. In fact, the payment may be regarded as a distinctively religious act, since it recognizes the spirits as the guardians and protectors of the family. When one becomes a Christian, that allegiance is cast off. By an unwritten law or custom of the country, that fee belonged to the patriarch, and he decided to exact it or make trouble. I had explained the marriage ceremony to the princes and to the Commissioner. I knew that the latter recognized the justice of our position, and I assumed that the government would support us if the patriarch caused any trouble. Sure enough, early in the morning the patriarch’s loud voice was heard in our yard threatening dire punishment to the family if his demand were not granted. The bride’s father became alarmed, and thought we must have some official backing, or he would surely get into trouble. The guests had arrived, and every one was on the _qui vive_ to see which side was to win in the contest. I went to the liege-lord of the family for his sanction; but he said it was too big a question for him to pass upon. I must go to a higher authority. It had evidently become a question that could not be settled that morning. Old Adam would have said, “Marry them and trust to the justice of your cause. Let the old patriarch whistle!” But we teach our Christians to be obedient to the law, and we wished to avoid unnecessary trouble. So there was nothing to do but to swallow our mortification, apologize to our guests, invite them to partake of the feast, and seek legal sanction afterwards.