Not only the fingers of the lady, but a good many things besides, were moistened with oil and full of its odour. Scarcely a bottle had survived the shocks of that journey. Alicia looked aghast when she became aware of the extent of the mischief done. “Don’t worry about it, dear,” said her brother-in-law, with rough sympathy. “To have nice things spoilt is a very common experience with us missionaries, so I have often congratulated myself on having so few things to be ruined.” Seeing the cloud still on Alicia’s face, Robin added more seriously, “You know there is something in the Bible about taking joyfully the spoiling of goods.” “It is difficult to take it joyfully, but I must try to take it patiently,” said Harold’s bride. “But where is my beautiful piano? Surely you have not left it behind!” “One of the oxen is loaded with—with what remains of it,” said Robin slowly. “Oh, surely the piano is not broken! My father’s gift! Don’t say that it too has come to grief!” cried Alicia. “Then what am I to say?” replied Robin. “I am sure that I would far rather tell you something pleasant, but one of the big packing-cases fell on the poor piano.” “And smashed it—quite smashed it?” cried Alicia. Robin gravely nodded his head, then turned a little aside to avoid seeing the tears gathering in Alicia’s lovely eyes. “Perhaps the piano is not past mending,” were the first words which she uttered, after a silence of several minutes. Robin knew that the instrument was quite past repairing; his silence was sufficient reply. “I suppose that missionaries must not let their hearts cling to anything earthly,” thought poor Alicia. “I must gradually learn _to endure hardness like a good soldier of Jesus Christ_. After all,” she said aloud, “one might have worse losses than even that of a new piano.” So the sad face cleared up a little, and Alicia, with a resolution of making the best of what remained to her, turned to the second of her large packing-cases. “That chiefly contains clothes and linen,” she observed, “and a very large roll of wall-paper. Nothing there is likely to have been spoiled. But I can examine nothing in it until I have washed these oily fingers.” “May I suggest your waiting a little before doing any more unpacking,” said Robin. “You look tired already, and the first case is not fully explored. From what you say, it appears that there is little or nothing liable to be broken in this second box, so you can leave it for a while. Let these fellows carry both boxes into the bungalow.” “Not into your bungalow, Robin; they would not leave us standing room,” said Alicia with decision. “Let everything be put into our empty house”—the lady glanced at the yet scarcely finished bungalow which adjoined the one in whose veranda she now was standing,—“there is space for everything there, and in it I shall gradually unpack all my things.” “That house, newly built, is damp,” expostulated Robin; “you must put nothing into it yet.”