The Chinese are dreadfully, dreadfully cruel, and very cunning and deceitful, but father says they make splendid Christians. You see it’s not a bit the same as it is in England—they have to go through such dreadful persecution if they become Christians; they have to give up everything for the sake of Christ’s love, and you love a person far, far more if you feel you can give up everything, even life itself, for their sake. When we first came to Cheng-si there was not a single Christian here, and the people did not like us much, but father and mother were so kind, and did so much for them when they were sick, that they got accustomed to us, and now they come from all parts, for miles around, to be healed. You see, father is not like an ordinary Missionary, he is a doctor, too; he reminds me more of the Lord Jesus than anyone I have ever seen: he goes about doing good and healing the sick—he has such a beautiful expression. I have not seen many men, and I do not know exactly whether he is what people call a handsome man, I rather think not, but it is when he is healing the sick and speaking to them that there is that light on his face which makes me think of what is said about St. Stephen in the Acts: "They saw his face as it had been the face of an angel." Uncle Lawrence is quite different: he is a soldier, every inch of him, a good soldier of Jesus Christ too. I have heard mother say so many times, and it is that which makes him such a good soldier of the Queen. She says the best soldier is the Christian soldier, and that very few people would contradict that now, because of Lord Roberts; and then there is General Havelock, and Sir Henry Lawrence, and a host of others. But Uncle does not look like father, and he does not speak much; you know what he is by his life more than by what he says. He has only one child, her name is Nina—Nina is three years older than I—she is my bosom friend. I never in my life saw anyone so wonderful as Nina, or anyone half so pretty; Nina is tall and dark, she has beautiful eyes, not at all like baby’s, but more like wells of water, where the sunbeams lie; one can never be sad with Nina, she is so bright and sunshiny, like her laughing eyes; she loves me, too, dearly, and calls me St. Cecilia because I am so grave and old beyond my years. Nina and Uncle Lawrence are always together, and she is the pet of the regiment—yet she is not spoilt. I have not known her long, only since the troubles began in China, and since they have been in Wei-hai-wei, which is about one hundred miles from this place; but our love for each other grew up mushroom-like in a few hours. She says she cares for me more than for any other girl. We write such long letters to each other, and when we meet she tells me stories about the officers, especially one, Uncle Lawrence’s greatest friend.