“A many-tailed bandage said he thought we were going to Busrah to help in the dispensary there, but a T bandage, which has three ends to it and is shaped like a big letter T, contradicted him, and there came near being a quarrel. The little bandages, however, with one accord smoothed it over by saying: ‘Wait and you will see.’ “The big roller bandage was right. When the British India steamer entered Bahrein harbour with a large cargo of rice and tea and Manchester goods, the missionary boxes got mixed up with the rest, and were put over the ship’s side into native boats. “Such a hubbub and shouting! I knew we were among Arabs and in the land of Ishmael, although I could not understand one word of their strange language. “From the cargo boat we were carried on the back of a donkey through the surf to the custom-house, and thence once again to the hospital. I cannot say I enjoyed the donkey ride. The boy who drove the beast had an awkward way of turning sharp corners in the narrow streets, and then the big packing case would bump hard against a stone wall, and give us an awful shaking. “It was a relief to hear the voices of our new friends. Soon the box was opened, and we saw daylight once more. The sheets and blankets were put to immediate use in the general ward; the dolls put away for Christmas; while we were taken to the operating-room, and put behind glass doors on a shelf. Even though I was not an eye bandage, I could easily see that we were occupying the best room in the entire hospital, and I distinctly heard one of the ladies say: ‘These bandages _are_ fine.’ “You can imagine that we kept our eyes and ears open after such a welcome. Well, it was rather monotonous, after all. Every day, nearly, the doctor had some sort of eye patient on the table, and consequently the eye bandages put on airs of great importance. We waited impatiently. “One day a nurse came in suddenly and seized me by my throat and took me without ceremony to the general ward, a big room with twelve beds in it. “On the stretcher, in the middle of the floor, lay an Arab, looking very untidy and weak, and in great pain. I heard his story. His name was Ahmed bin Haroon, and he was a poor fisherman from the distant village of Zillag. Zillag is one of those little struggling hamlets on the Island of Bahrein to which the missionaries occasionally make zigzag journeys, visiting the people to carry them Gospels or to invite the sick to the hospital. The day before, very early in the morning, while he was mending his nets and collecting his fish, a robber came, stabbed him twice in his abdomen, and taking the fish, ran away.