"Well, well, you'll repent of your choice one of these days. But what on earth is taking you across the sea, Master Robin? You ought to be learning Greek and Latin at home. You're not fledged; you can't fly about the world as a missionary yet."
"No," laughed Robin, "I'm a callow downy nestling; but I can hop about a little, and I hope to fly when my feathers are grown."
"What can you do?" persisted Miss Petty, who had seated herself on a bench by the bulwarks, prepared for what she called a good long chat with old friends.
"Not much, but I can do something," said Robin, good-humouredly. "I can make a box, pack it, and carry it; groom a horse, shoe it, and ride it; act as clerk or medicine compounder; cut down a tree and light a fire; cook a dinner and eat it, and make myself useful to my father and brother in a general sort of way—at least I'll try to do so."
"But all that won't bring in a penny," observed sage Miss Petty.
"You know that when a piece of machinery is packed up in a box to go some distance, one sticks in little odd items to fill up the crannies and corners, to keep the instrument from being shaken by the jolts on the journey. My brother is the machine, and I—well, I'm one of the odd items to keep him safe and steady," said Robin, gaily.
"You won't like India," observed Miss Petty, shaking her head; "no more shall I, but I don't mean to stay in it long. I hear that snakes, scorpions, cockroaches, and mosquitoes are as plentiful as the blackberries on our hedges, and you feel like a leg of mutton being turned round on a spit before a big kitchen fire!"
Robin laughed so merrily at this description of the miseries before him that his mirth was infectious. "I can't enter into the feelings of a leg of mutton in such a predicament," he cried.
"Ah! Master Robin, you were always fond of joke," said Theresa Petty; "but you'll find life in India no joke, I warrant you. Besides, I can never make out what missionaries want to do with those dirty blackies. Not that I know much about them; I never saw one but that wretched creature whom my cousin brought home as a bearer."
Every trace of mirth vanished from Robin's face in a moment. "You must not—you shall not speak so of dear Prem Dás!" he exclaimed. "Do you not know that he was converted, that my father baptised him, and that he lived Christ's true servant?"