If I had not an income aside of that of my villages, I could not have done what I did. As it was I was rewarded by an increased assessment. I could afford to pay the fine owing to the kindness of the friend of my boyhood, but what about the millions of poor wretches who have no income but from their daily toil? It is now all passed with me except the taste of the bitter pill that I was compelled to swallow, and still this is not satisfactory considering that the pill never did me any good. Let it go, as there are so many bitter pills in life, it is best to forget them if we can, yet I trust and hope that at last there will be a permanent settlement of all of life, whether for good or ill, so that we may know that everything is settled, finished for ever. One incident occurred that I do not like to mention, yet it comes along with my story. One night the gentleman in camp sent his head servant as a panderer to the village to get a woman. No sooner was his errand known than the women rose in a body, flogging him with sticks and pelting him with dirt. The fellow got away with his life, but not with a whole skin, nor with scarcely a rag on his body. This greatly pleased me, as I was aroused from sleep to hear what had occurred. This attitude of the women was a recompense for all the robberies that had been committed. Here were these heathen women, who had never heard the name of Jesus, and knew no more about the creed and the theology of the Christian Church than they did about the differential calculus, fighting for their virtue and their sacred rights of womanhood, while there was that English Christian gentleman who probably had been taught to pray at his mother’s knee, and often rattled off the services in church, as I had seen him do, waiting in his tent, with his thoughts bent on lust. I was once in a dak bungalow when in the room adjoining mine was this same gentleman with an officer of a regiment, a gentleman also, as all officers in her majesty’s army are so ranked. As I was about to retire I heard the chaukedar of the bungalow inquire, “Who goes there?” A woman’s voice replied. “What do you come here for?” he asked. She answered that the sahib’s bearer had come to the bazar for her. The watchman indignantly told her to leave at once, as she had no business there for any one. Is it a wonder that the heathen do not rush to embrace Christianity when they see such worthy examples of Jesus people? I well know that this same gentleman once intrigued with the wife of a magistrate, and while the two were out riding and driving, billing and cooing, the broken-hearted husband, left alone, sought the company of the brandy bottle and killed himself with drink within a month, leaving his wife a happy widow. Was not my cousin a worthy nephew of his virtuous uncle, my distinguished paternal parent?