We would like to watch them, too, at their work, for they are all busy little bees, and what a hive of happy industry it is--dairying, poultry-raising, laundry, kitchen, housework, and gardening! The reason why we cannot stay for more than a flying visit is because there is no room for us, and if not for us, then for no one else, for the Home is already more than full. “The girls’ dormitories hold fourteen beds, and there are twenty girls! Baby Grace sleeps in a cot beside the bed of ‘Mother’ and ‘Daddy,’ but the other five have to sleep in the dining-room, which means making up beds at bedtime. The walls of the Home are not made of india-rubber, so they cannot be stretched to receive any more ‘blossoms.’ What is then to be done? Applications are constantly coming in, a recent one being for a motherless baby girl of a month old. How the heart of Christ must yearn over these little ones of whom He said when here on earth: ‘Of such is the Kingdom of Heaven!’” CHAPTER IV PARAGUAYAN PICCANINNIES Our next visit is to the Republic of Paraguay, so, leaving Sao Paulo, we will travel in a westerly direction, though really, in order to reach Paraguay in the proper way we should make our way to Santos, and embark on a steamer for Buenos Aires, in Argentina, which is situated at the mouth of the Silver River, called by the Spanish-speaking people of Argentina “Rio de la Plata.” From Buenos Aires all missionaries travel up this river to Paraguay, but as we are not ordinary travellers, but extraordinary, we make our way to the banks of the River Paraguay. Here we must pause for a moment. Behind us is civilization; before us is heathenism and the unknown. Across the river lies the “Gran Chaco” (Great Hunt), the Indian’s land, about which one hears all kinds of queer stories. There is something fascinating about “an unknown people in an unknown land,” and so curiosity prompts us to cross and explore. But it was something more than mere curiosity which took Mr W. Barbrooke Grubb, of the South American Missionary Society, among the Lengua Indians--a burning desire to tell these dusky people of a God of Love. So one day this quiet, resolute Englishman, with a purposeful air which reminded one strangely of David Livingstone, walked into the Indian encampment, letting them know by his manner that he had come to stay. Still it is with the little people we wish to make friends. So climbing into a bullock-cart--for we are now on the other side of the river--we make our way slowly across swampy plains until we come to a palm forest, where some Lengua Indians are encamped. Boys and girls with browny-red skin, black eyes, and long black hair are playing about just like English children--only they are not very merry or full of fun, but are, oh, so dirty!