‘May 30.—It does my heart good to see Emily walking off to her work, perhaps at 6 A.M., so brave and bright, with firm, elastic tread.... Sweet Margaret has been very unwell. She looks too much like the statue of an angel in white marble. But she is better again; and if we can coax her back to her old quarters here, and pet her to any extent—her medicine—I think that she may weather the hot weather well.
‘As I have little need of a separate kahar here, I was advised to part with V. I tried to do so, but I really could not. The poor fellow pleaded,—it was so hard to get work,—and I remember how miserable he looked when out of situation before. Then he is a married man, and such an intelligent, faithful creature.[66] So I gave in! It seems to me very hard to cast off good servants, just because the perpetual changing about makes one rather a supernumerary. V. is invaluable to me at Batala; and I hope to return to Batala. I was rather pleased at C.’s pleading for his companion. He seemed quite eloquent; but I confess that I did not understand much of his eloquence; only he evidently did not want poor V. to be cut adrift. I would at any time, if troubles arose, trust my life either to C. or V. I get quite interested in some of the servants, and they seem to be really affectionate. They are much like children.’
‘Amritsar, June 11, 1877.—Emily said quietly to me yesterday, “You certainly have wonderful health.” Not that I was well during my last trying time at Batala; but I have surprised my friends by getting all right again so very rapidly. The heat is very moderate as yet. I have only once this year had the thermometer in my sleeping room up to 90°. It seldom rises above 85° or 86°, which is nothing.’
‘June 22.—The banyan-tree has dropped its brown leaves at last. Fancy a tree waiting till May or June before it will put off its old dress! It waits till all its new leaves are well out; and in midsummer throws off the withered ones. It is a grand tree; the one here is a fine one, but not to be compared to the one at Batala.
‘The quite new school at Batala, the first Boys’ School in which Christianity is taught, has already risen to 175 pupils. The house is too small, and I. D.[67] is going to give up his for it, and take another. The religious instruction has been given by three natives.’
‘June 30.—Dear Emily is done up. She actually asked me for an amusing book, feeling evidently fit for little but to lie on the sofa and read. She overworks, and the season tells on her. When dear Leila happens to be writing to Bella Frances, would she kindly ask her to send me by post “Fairy Know-a-bit,” and “Fairy Frisket,” and “Pride and his Prisoners,” my funniest tales. We have three trying months at least to come; and I want to keep my ladies as cheerful as I can. They have not much time for reading, except when poorly, and then a laugh is medicine.’
‘July 2.—The work is going on at Batala, love, though we are absent. The Bible-woman, lately sent, who was here to-day, has access into nearly double the number of zenanas that Florrie and I had. There is also daily bazaar-preaching; and I. D. tells me that he has great hopes from the new Batala Boys’ School, where the little lads listen readily to daily religious instruction. The women, I hear, want me back; but I do not see my way to returning till the rains are over. It would not do to dwell in a house which might be surrounded by water.’
‘July 14.—It was so nice last Wednesday welcoming my dharm-nephew[68] back to Amritsar. Dharm is a good word to distinguish my Missionary relatives from my relatives by birth. A Godmother is a Dharm-mai. The Natives themselves have put me up to adopting the distinction. One of them asked Emily after me as her “dharm-poti,” (religion-aunt). My dharm-nephew was only two days in Amritsar; he is off to Dhamsala, to be out of the heat of the plains. He looked better than I had hoped to see him, and just his own bright self.’
TO —— ——
‘July 20, 1877.