Both turned to gaze in the direction from which that dreadful sound had proceeded. What was their horror on beholding the striped head of a Bengal tiger above the waving grass! The ayah uttered a terrified scream, and the little girl a cry to God to save her. It seemed like the instant answer to that cry when the sharp report of a rifle rang through the thicket, quickly succeeded by a second, and the tiger, mortally wounded, lay rolling and struggling on the earth.
Edith—for that was the girl's name—saw nothing of what followed. Senseless with terror, she lay in the arms of her trembling ayah.
It was her father whom Providence had sent to the rescue. Lifting his little girl in his arms, he bore her back to the tent, leaving his servants, who had followed in his steps, to bring in the dead tiger. It was some time before the little girl recovered her senses, and then an attack of fever ensued.
Her mother nursed her with fondest care; and with scarcely less tenderness and love, the faithful ayah tended the child. The poor Hindoo would have given her life to save that of her little charge.
On the third night after that terrible adventure in the woods came the crisis of the fever. The girl's mother, worn out by two sleepless nights, had been persuaded to go to rest and let Motee take her turn of watching beside the child. The tent was nearly dark—but one light burned within it—Edith lay in shadow—the ayah could not see her face—a terror came over the Hindoo—all was so still, she could not hear any breathing—could the child be dead! The ayah, during two anxious days, had prayed to all the false gods that she could think of to make Missee Edith well,—but the fever had not decreased. Now, in the silence of the night, poor Motee Ayah bethought her of the English girl's words in the jungle. Little Edith had said that the Lord could save them—and had He not saved from the jaws of the savage tiger? Could He not help them now? The Hindoo knelt beside the charpoy (pallet) on which lay the fair-haired child, put her brown palms together, bowed her head, and for the first time in her life breathed a prayer to the Christian's God: "Lord Jesus, save Missee Baba!"
"O Motee! Motee!" cried little Edith, starting up front her pillow with a cry of delight, and flinging her white arms round the neck of the astonished Hindoo. "The Lord has made you love Him! And oh, how I love you, Motee!—more than ever I did before!" The curly head nestled on the bosom of the ayah, and her dark skin was wet with the little child's tears of joy.
Edith, a few minutes before, had awaked refreshed from a long sleep, during which her fever had passed away. From that hour, her recovery was speedy; and before many days were over, the child was again sporting about in innocent glee. From that night, the ayah never prayed to an idol again. She was now willing to listen to all that was told her of a great and merciful Lord. Of the skin of the tiger that had been slain, a rug was made, which Edith called her praying-carpet. Upon this, morning and night, the English girl and her ayah knelt side by side, and offered up simple prayers to Him who had saved them from death.
[PART I.]
"HE is the naughtiest child in my class. I think that I must give up trying to teach him!" sighed Miss Lee, a very sickly looking lady, as on one cold afternoon in March, she returned from the Sunday-school in which she had been for some years a teacher.