“Much grieved; for there were many converts, most of whom he himself had baptized. But there were circumstances which made the move advisable; and my father, without a murmur, though not without a sigh, gave up his long-cherished hope of spending his last days in his old home and amongst his own people, and being buried in the same grave as my mother.” “I think that it was very hard to send your father away against his will!” exclaimed Alicia. “Missionaries must have submissive wills, my love, and think nothing hard that is right.” “Oh, it will take me a long time to learn that lesson,” cried Alicia. “Papa always let me have my own way—perhaps more than was quite good for me. Do you know,” Alicia added in a more lively tone, “when I asked Robin—playfully of course—whether I should not make a capital missionary, he was bear enough to shrug his broad shoulders and say, ‘Time will show’?” “Robin could not flatter to save his life,” remarked Harold; “but with all his bluntness you will like him, Alicia. He has the kindest, the truest of hearts.” “Oh, I like him amazingly!” cried the bride. “We were hand and glove from the first—only the glove is not a kid one. Robin will help to make our house the daintiest little home to be found in all the Panjab. I have quantities of pretty things, you know—pictures and beautifully-bound books. We will have a flower-garden too, and creepers all over the house. I mean it to look like a bower.” Harold did not like to speak again of difficulties; he only remarked with a smile, “Missionaries cannot always contrive to have very elegant homes, my Alicia.” “But I know that they have, for I have seen them. Some of the bungalows are quite charming,” said the bride. “Probably in older stations, my love, when it is easier to gather little comforts around one.” “Perhaps one can do without some of the little comforts, darling,” said Alicia, “when one has the greatest comfort of all!” Very tender was the bride’s tone as she added, “With you every place will be Eden to me.” Harold fondly stroked the small clasped hands which rested so confidingly on his knee. “I do so want to be a help to you—never a hindrance. Do you not think that missionaries’ wives, as well as their husbands, should have the missionary spirit?” “So strongly do I feel it, my love, that I should think a worker for God a traitor to the good cause if he united himself to one in whom such a spirit is wanting.” “Ah, you think better of your poor little wifie than does Master Robin,” said Alicia. “He copied out for me a song all about the duties of Mission Miss Sahibas. So, like a dutiful little sister, I learned it by heart, and set it to a capital old tune. Would you like to hear it? I wish that my piano were here; but it has been sent on with the heavy luggage.” “Your voice needs no accompaniment, my love,” said Harold; “the nightingale requires no piano.”