"Our son! our dearly loved son! Give us back our child, our little one! the only child that was ever sent by the gods to bless us!" Not a word of reproach was mingled with the prayer which made it all the harder for the missionary to bear. "He cannot return to you. You must go to him," repeated Alderbury. "Sir! if you will bring him back to us--and he will come! I know he will! if you so much as hold up your finger--I will give you a lac of rupees to build a temple for your God. Your God is merciful and kind. He will take the church in exchange for the only son of two heart-broken parents. He will be satisfied if you build it large and put much gold and jewels in the sacred place. You shall have money and jewels and gold and silk and rich carpets and hangings--all these and more than you ask you shall have, if you will only give him back to us." "Give him back to me, his mother! Let me have my little one again! my little one whose tiny hands upon my neck awoke the mother-love within me," prayed the proud Gunga at his feet in abject humility. It was getting beyond Alderbury's endurance. His human pity brought the tears to his eyes. He bent over the prostrate figures. "I cannot grant your request even if I would. There can be no return for your son. You must go to him; he cannot come back to you. May my God, the God of love and mercy, help you!" He turned and left the verandah. In another ten seconds the car was speeding down the road hidden in a column of golden dust in the bright morning sunshine. * * * * * The following morning, punctual to the minute, Ananda, accompanied by the Principal, entered the class room where he was to instruct twenty-seven boys whose ages ranged between twelve and fourteen. He had already received his instructions, and was relieved to find that nothing was required of him in the teaching line otherwise than what he was easily able to perform. The class had assembled and most of the boys were studying the lesson that was to be repeated. There was a buzz of voices as each individual conned aloud the portion he had prepared. A few talked together in low tones with a solemnity that would be strange in English schoolboys. Whether studying or chatting they all behaved quietly, with a total absence of trickery or exuberance of spirits. This self-contained orderliness, peculiar to native children in India, renders it possible for a teacher to manage a class of fifty pupils. Not only are the boys attentive, but many of them show an eagerness to learn which is surprising to the English master. There was a sudden breathless hush as Wenaston entered; and twenty-seven pairs of eyes were fixed in rounded wonder upon the new teacher. He was recognised by most of the boys. Many of them belonged to families known to his own people.