"Shelah O'More; I'm Shelah O'More;
Take me to India's bright, beautiful shore."
The little device had instant success. Shelah for a few moments loosened her clinging hands in order to clap them.
"I like that song!" she exclaimed, and instantly began to sing it. Then she paused to ask a question.
"Shall I find the good woman and Robin on India's bright, beautiful shore?" said the child.
"No," replied Harold, with a quivering lip; "they have gone to heaven's shore, which is more bright and beautiful by far."
"Then I'll change the song!" cried Shelah, and she instantly sang out:
"Take me to heaven's bright, beautiful shore."
Harold took the hint unconsciously given. He who had hoped to gather in a Christian flock from amongst the heathen, had here his charge confined to that of one child, a single lamb to feed for the Master.
"I want you to try something besides singing, poor Lammikin," he said. "I want to teach you a little prayer to be said night and morning. It will, I hope, help you to reach the beautiful place."
Shelah again loosened her grasp, and clasped her little sunburnt hands together.