ISA DÁS much needed such encouragements to cheer him, for at this time he was in great straits as regarded temporal things. The patients who came to him for healing seldom gave him even cowries * to pay for his drugs. Few even thought of giving the Christian his due; was it not enough if they did not abuse and revile him? Isa Dás could no longer earn money by selling charms, his conscience forbade him to do so. He had to part one by one with almost everything that he possessed, even to his shawl and embroidered slippers, and the hookah which had once been his father's. The blanket which he wore was threadbare; the kurta beneath only fit for a wandering fakir. * Shells used as money, where such is needed below the value of a mite. Often the doctor went hungry to his work, and hungry and tired lay down to rest. But for four rupees which had been lent to him by his friend the missionary, the poor convert might—as it seemed—have been starved. Those rupees, though spent sparingly pice by pice for food, were gone at last. This was a great trial of the faith of Isa Dás. He was sometimes tempted to think, "Hath my Lord forgotten me? He is my Shepherd, yet doth He not leave me to want?" But Isa Dás's faith struggled against the secret temptation. These words were written on his heart, 'Casting all your care upon Him, for He careth for you' (1 Peter v. 7). One evening, after a day of trial, when a single chapatti had formed the whole of his meal, and not a cowrie was left to buy another, Isa Dás, prostrating himself on the earth, uttered this prayer, "O Lord Jesus! Thou hast known what it is to be poor and a-hungered; Thou hast promised that Thou wilt never leave or forsake them who put their trust in Thee! I cast myself on Thy mercy and love! Give me according to Thy wisdom and my need, and whether I suffer want or abound, enable me always to glorify Thee, and say from my heart, 'Thy will be done.'" Even as Isa Dás rose from his prostrate position, he saw a man running towards him in haste. This man was the servant of Ahmed Khán, a Mahomedan Amir. "Can you tell me where the doctor lives?" cried the man as he reached the spot where Isa Dás was standing at the door of his mud-built hut. The messenger was panting from the speed at which he had been running. "I am the doctor," replied Isa Dás. The servant looked for a moment rather contemptuously at the half-fed, ill-dressed man before him, but his business admitted of no delay. "My master's only son has had a terrible accident," he said. "A messenger was sent on horseback for the European doctor, but he is laid up with fever, and cannot leave his bed. Therefore am I sent for you. When an elephant falls down dead, he who sat in its howdah may have to content himself with the back of an ass."