"No; he had nothing to say in the matter; it was all done without his knowledge. Pantulu sent his son to England to finish his education; and while he was there, so the tale goes, he saw a very bad accident. One of these elevators, these flying men," she explained, as she noted a puzzled expression on Eola's face, "fell at his very feet and struck down his friend, a native gentleman who was walking with him." Already the story had gathered fiction in its passage from mouth to mouth. "The elevator was killed on the spot; but the friend had time to make a last request, and it was that Ananda should become a Christian. He never said a word to his people, but got it done on the quiet and registered and everything. It gave his father a terrible shock; it nearly killed the poor old gentleman when his son came back and told him what had happened. He is a very rich man and would give a crore of rupees to have the mischief undone. But as William--that was my second--used to say: 'Mind your doing, because as a rule there's no undoing.' In this case there can't be any undoing. Once a Christian always a Christian, unless you want to burn." "I remember Ananda and his friends in London," said Eola, "I was at that very meeting and saw the man fall. Coomara was not killed by the aviator, but in a railway accident as he was returning to town." "Anyway he was killed," replied Mrs. Hulver. "His death affected his friend and made him feel so bad that he turned Christian. The poor young man is having a very rough time with his people. They are determined to knock the Christianity out of him; and it will be a pretty stiff fight if he has any spirit. It is said in the bazaar that Mr. Alderbury is coming in from the district to see if he can smooth matters down a bit. As William--that was my third--used to say: 'Let's have peace if it's possible; but if it must be war, let's fight to the finish! and make it a good one!'" "He didn't practice what he preached; he gave in," remarked Eola, unable to resist poking fun at her devoted housekeeper. Mrs. Hulver smiled broadly, and was quite ready with her answer. "You see, miss, there was the lady in the case, meaning me, I can't deny but what William, my third, found the change of religion troublesome. It meant new habits and a new grip of the thing. He was never satisfied, and always had the feeling that he had played the turncoat. The trouble was at Christmas time when his weakness overtook him. His leaning was towards whisky, being an Irishman. It was expensive whilst it lasted. As William--that was my second--used to say (he was a teetotaller): 'One vice will cost more than twenty virtues.' In his old religion my third used to go to his priest when the fit was over, and get square with himself by a proper penance; but when he changed he didn't quite know where he was with himself." "You should have made him give it up altogether," suggested Eola.