Mr Grocott, of the Bolivian Indian Mission, having given such an interesting account of the day-school work, Mrs Grocott now tells about the Sunday-school. She says:-- “Could you visit our little school-room some Sunday morning, between seven and eight o’clock, you would find a little gathering of from twelve to twenty-five men, women, and children, representing the whites, the half-castes, and the pure Indians. These are gathered to learn about Jesus. They do not come because it is God’s Day, for Sunday to them is as other days. No, they come because they like to come. “They have dirty faces, uncombed hair, and clothing which has not been washed for many weeks. Not an attractive audience, is it? But a missionary may not be critical. She has come to teach them to do better, and one must always begin at the beginning. “The day-school children come to these meetings, as do some of the parents. The Indians are rather shy at entering, and often prefer listening at the window. Those who do come in look round for an out-of-the-way corner, and, despising a seat, squat on the floor. One day a young Indian came in and immediately knelt down bareheaded before the blackboard, in an attitude of prayer. “At the time of his entering, the attention of those present was centred upon the words written on the blackboard and he evidently thought of worship. Being accustomed to kneel in the Roman Catholic church before shrines and images, he was quite prepared to kneel to anything that appeared to him to be the object of worship for the day. “Very few Indians can sing, but some of the half-castes do fairly well. Several hymns have already been translated into Quechua.” Christ’s command to “heal the sick,” as well as to “teach” and “preach the Gospel,” is being faithfully carried out as far as possible by the missionaries to these benighted people. The healing of the body opens the door to the healing of the soul. A Spanish doctor will not touch an Indian; and for this great work of healing, the power of God is needed. There are very many villages in this hermit republic without a missionary of any kind whatever. Come with me, and see for yourselves. Here on a mud bed in a corner sits a poor woman amidst her rags. A wound which she has had a long, long time has reduced her to a skeleton. Beside her is a sickly-looking baby. Between her sobs she tells us she has neither a home nor a husband. The tiny room, which serves as a living-room, bedroom, and cobbler’s shop, is full from floor to ceiling. The floor is covered with cooking-pots, ten altogether, “stones for grinding corn into meal, great earthenware pots for making chicha (the native drink), old boots, piles of potatoes and maize, bones, rags, and dirt--plenty of dirt. From under the bed run guinea-pigs, whilst keeping the woman company in bed are a dog and a pigeon!