While the servant was preparing the food, Mr. Hartley proposed united thanksgiving and prayer. Alicia expressed her wish to join in it, though she was hardly able to keep her eyes open during the service, brief as it was. She then retired—if it could be called retiring in a place where the accommodation was so cramped that every sound could be heard over the house—and Alicia felt as if she must not only be uncomfortable herself, but make every one else so. The last sound which fell on her drowsy ear was that of Robin starting off with all the coolies whom he could manage to muster at that hour of the night, to go with him to the place where the bullock-cart had broken down, in order to bring home the luggage. Alicia did not awake till very late on the following morning—so late that Mr. Hartley had gone to his work hours before; and Harold, who had a crowd of native visitors to welcome him back, was only waiting to give his wife breakfast before going the round of his station. After his months of absence, the young missionary’s work was much in arrears. “Harold, dear Harold, can we not have a little quiet?” murmured Alicia. “It is very embarrassing to have such a number of black eyes staring curiously at the new Mem, as if I were some kind of white bear just imported from the North Pole.” “I will carry them all off with me to the mango grove; but I must introduce a few of my boys to you first.—Kripá Dé, Bál Singh, make your saláms to the lady.” They did so respectfully and with natural grace. Alicia was puzzled how to return the politeness, for she had had no intercourse with natives, except her servants. “I see that your breakfast is just ready, my love,” said Harold. “Call for anything that you want; Mangal acts as khitmatgar [table-servant] as well as cook.” “But surely you are going to take breakfast with me!” cried Alicia. “I am not to eat alone, and on the first morning here!” “Forgive me, darling, for hurrying away. I do not know when I shall be able to overtake all the work which I find before me.” “But you must eat breakfast,” began Alicia. “I took mine hours ago with my father. I only waited to see you, and look after your little comforts. Indeed I must go,” continued Harold, vexed to see moisture rising to the eyes of his wife. “I have left my burden too long on the shoulders of others. You know that a missionary’s time is not his own;” and in another minute he was off. “So I am not to have the society of my own husband, or have him always surrounded by natives!” murmured Alicia, as she sat down disconsolately to her solitary meal. “It is rather hard—but no! I must remember Harold’s words, that nothing is hard which is right. And missionaries should have submissive wills.”