The mother took up in her arms the poor moaning child, whose every gasp seemed likely to be his last. She folded her chaddar closely around him, and with hurried steps sought the mud hut which was now the Christian doctor's abode.
"Can you save him?" she cried, laying her almost expiring child at the feet of Isa Dás.
"God can," was the Christian's reply.
"Have you no charm?" sobbed the trembling mother.
"My only charm is asking God's blessing on my medicines," replied Isa Dás.
Very earnestly did the Christian ask that blessing. Not only from pity for the mother and her suffering child, but because he saw that on his success or failure in this difficult case not only the little one's life, but (humanly speaking) his own future livelihood might depend.
Isa Dás mixed his drugs; he gave them with humble prayer, and with faith committed the result to God. After a while the child's moanings gave place to perfect stillness.
"He is dead!" exclaimed the trembling mother.
Isa Dás smiling said, "Thank God! He has dropped asleep at last!"
The child made a good recovery, and from that time Isa Dás had almost as many patients as before his baptism. The most prejudiced Hindu, when seriously ill, preferred to be cured by one who had broken caste, to dying in an orthodox way.