Edith and Her Ayah, and Other Stories

by A. L. O. E.

There was comfort in that thought, which the poor heathen could not have drawn from calling on Vishnu and the thousand false gods which the ignorant Hindus adore. The little child could feel, as the woman could not, that even in that lonely jungle a great and a loving Friend was beside her!

Again Motee tried to find her way, again she paused in alarm. What was that dreadful sound, like a growl, that startled the ayah, and made her sink on her knees in terror, clasping all the closer the little girl in her arms! Motee and Edith 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! Motee uttered a terrified scream,—Edith a cry to the Lord 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 wild beast, mortally wounded, lay rolling and struggling on the earth! Edith saw nothing of what followed; the shock had been too great for the child; senseless with terror she lay in the arms of her trembling ayah!

Edith’s father, for it was he whom Providence had sent to the rescue, bore his little darling back to the tent, leaving his servants, who had followed his steps, to bring in the spoils of the tiger. It was some time before Edith recovered her senses, and then an attack of fever ensued. Mrs. Tuller nursed her daughter with fondest care, and with scarcely less tenderness and love the faithful Motee tended the child. The poor ayah 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. Mrs. Tuller, 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 Hindu,—all was so still, she could not hear any breathing,—could Missee Baba be dead! Motee 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 Hindu 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!”

THE AYAH PRAYING.

“O Motee! Motee!” cried little Edith, starting up from the pillow with a cry of delight, and flinging her white arms round the neck of the astonished Hindu, “the Lord has made you love him,—I knew he would,—for I prayed so hard. 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 awoke refreshed from a long sleep, during which her fever had passed away. And from that hour her recovery was speedy; before many days were over the child was again sporting about in innocent glee. And from that night the ayah never prayed to an idol again. Willing she now was to listen to all that the beebee could tell of a great and merciful Lord. Of the skin of the tiger that the sahib had slain a rug was made, which Edith called her praying-carpet. Upon this, morning and night, the white English girl and her ayah knelt side by side, and offered up simple prayers to Him who had saved them from death. Mrs. Tuller’s words had done less than her example in drawing a poor wandering soul to God; but the prayer lisped by her little lamb had had greater effect than either.

Oh, if, in our dear land, all the little ones who have no money to give to the missionary cause, who have never even seen an idolater, would lift up their hands and hearts to the Lord, saying, “Teach the poor heathen to love thee!” how rich a harvest of blessings would be drawn down by such a prayer on those who know not the truth, and still sit in darkness and the shadow of death!