As a rule a dispensary is started first, to which out-patients can come to get medicines and have their hurts attended to. Later a hospital is opened. Generally the first hospital is a very poor affair, but as the work grows money is collected, and nice, clean, convenient hospitals are built and furnished. Armenian and Persian boys and girls are trained as nurses and assistants, the boys for the men’s hospital, the girls for the women’s and children’s. Here Hasan and ‘Ali, Fātimeh and Rubābeh, and a great many other little Persian children are made as comfortable as their illness allows, and are kept clean and happy in comfortable beds, and well fed and cared for. [Illustration: A MISSION HOSPITAL] Morning and evening they hear prayers read, and soon they too venture to join in the “Our Father.” And every day someone reads and explains in the ward something about the Lord Jesus Christ, and His love and His teaching, and they learn that He knows and loves each little Akbar or Sakīneh and wants them for His own, and they learn to love Him because He first loved them. They learn hymns too, and love to sing them, the same hymns that you know so well, “Whiter than snow,” “Simply trusting,” “Here we suffer grief and pain,” and many others. The last recalls the story of little Bāgum, the child-wife, who was deliberately and cruelly burnt by her husband, and was brought to the mission hospital. There was no hope of recovery, but all was done that was possible to relieve her pain and brighten her last days. She had heard something of the Gospel story from a missionary who had paid a visit to her native village, and she had been so interested that she had asked two Persian children to teach her more. When she was brought to the hospital even the terrible pain she was suffering did not make her forget the wonderful story, and she begged to be told more and more. And resting in the love of Christ and trusting wholly in Him and His salvation, she loved to sing of the joy to which He was going to take her and kept begging for “Here we suffer grief and pain,” and repeating over and over the refrain, “Shādī, Shādī,” (joy, joy), until even the Muhammadan women would sit beside her and sing the hymn that comforted her so much.