Early one morning towards the end of February when the weather was still bitterly cold, a sad thing was happening inside a little wayside temple not far from one of the villages in this famine region. On the cold brick floor just in front of the idol’s shrine lay a dying beggar. Famine was claiming one more victim. Beside him knelt his blind wife, swaying backwards and forwards moaning piteously. On the opposite side, nestling close to his dying father, as if for protection and warmth, slept a little boy of about six years of age. All through that cold pitiless night the poor woman had knelt there listening to the hard breathing which told what she could not see,—that the end was near. As the day dawned the last struggle ceased. Quietly, with the quietness and numbness of despair, the woman arose, felt for her child, awoke him, then grasping her stout beggar’s stick with one hand and laying her other on the child’s shoulder she motioned him to lead her away. Reaching the road she hesitated. Where should they go to? Death from starvation seemed to await them on every side. As she stood there hesitating there came into her mind the remembrance of what someone had said long before—that a long way off, about one hundred miles distant, lived a man who could give sight to the blind. Quickly with a sense of desperation the poor blind beggar woman resolved to try to reach that man. The sufferings of that journey can only be faintly imagined. They had no protection from the bitter winds by day, nor the cold frosty nights, but thin, torn, beggar garments. No resting place by day or night, but the roadside or the shelter of a wayside temple. Sometimes a whole day would pass when they failed to obtain even the few crumbs of black mouldy bread (made chiefly of chaff) usually thrown to them. Later, when attempting to tell the story of these days, the poor woman seemed able to recall little else than the ever present dread she had, lest when they reach the doorway of the wonderful man who could give sight to the blind, it would perhaps be closed against them. Needless to say these fears were groundless, for when at last the mother and child reached the Mission gate almost dead from starvation and exhaustion, kind loving hands received them. They were taken into the Women’s Hospital, cleansed, clothed, and fed. The day following their arrival one of the missionaries went to Mrs. Ma, for such was the blind woman’s name, and said: "Mrs. Ma, I have been sent to tell you that the doctor has great hopes of restoring your sight. But you are far too weak for the operation yet. He says you are to have all the food you can eat, and that I am to get you anything you fancy. Now just tell me what you want."