He saw a man by a well, driving his buffaloes round and round, while the water fell from the Persian wheel, to irrigate his little patch of ground. Approaching this man, Isa Dás was about to ask the question, "Where dwells the zemindar, Ditu?" when a sound which reached his ears made the question needless. From a rude mud hut near, came the music of a bhajan (a kind of Hindu song), voices young and old were singing, "Jesus Christ has saved my soul?" "I need no other guide!" thought Isa Dás. "In this poor place Christians are singing the Saviour's praises. Let me join them, they will not treat me as a stranger, for a holy tie unites all those who love the Lord Jesus." Seating himself close to the open doorway, Isa Dás joined in the well-known bhajan. He was not long suffered to remain outside. Ditu—for the dwelling was his—made his brother in the faith come in, and Isa Dás was soon prostrating himself in worship with the only Christian family in that village. When Ditu's simple prayer was ended, and all had risen from the posture of devotion, the zemindar asked a few questions of him who had so unexpectedly joined them. The mention of the missionary's name was enough for an introduction, had any been needed. In a few minutes the two Christians were conversing together as freely and as pleasantly as if they had been friends of long standing. The conversation lasted while Ditu's young daughter, Tara, busied herself in preparing the evening meal. "You have prayed with us, you will not refuse also to eat with us?" said the zemindar to Isa Dás. Isa Dás gladly consented to remain to this the only meal of which this needy family partook through the long day, for the famine pressed heavily also on them. Isa Dás wished to see more of these Christians, for their humble home seemed to him like an oasis in the midst of a desert. Here was no separation between husband and wife, parents and children, there was neither praying apart nor eating apart. In that home the wife's subjection was that of love, and the maiden's pardah that of modesty. The first glance of Isa Dás at the place showed him that the abode was one of poverty; the second glance that it was the abode of peace. There was unwonted cleanliness also; in this, the hut presented a great contrast to the house in which had dwelt the far wealthier oilman. The meal was but of rice, served on plantain leaves, and hospitality to the stranger made the small portions of parents and children smaller still. Nothing was touched till Ditu had reverently thanked God for the food provided. Then, indeed, little time was lost, the younger children ate eagerly, and, all too soon, every grain of rice disappeared from the leaves. Isa Dás left nothing on his green plate, but he took care to leave something beneath it. He smiled to himself as he hid his offering under his leaf to think what surprise and pleasure it would cause in the hut when they found that their plantain bore silver fruit! [Illustration]