TO MRS. HAMILTON.
‘Batala, Aug. 8, 1892.—Daisy and I are living in a remarkably damp world, as beautifully green as green can be. The rain is pouring furiously. My kahars had to wade through water to take me to the city. I had a good fire in my Gurub-i-Aftab to-day, not for warmth, but to keep away mustiness.... Damp is by no means as trying to me as cold, and it is a comfort to be in no danger of sand-storms. No dust now; only “water, water, everywhere.” Happily I cannot add, “not a drop to drink”!... We have quite a bevy of our Mission ladies up at the Hills. I am very glad that they are there. Hard-working Minnie seems to be enjoying herself so thoroughly. Did I tell you of a Hindu presenting, for her projected Hospital, a piece of ground, worth 700 rupees? Herbert had a meeting of principal Batala folk; and such interest was shown in Minnie’s work, that—including a hundred rupees from the kind Deputy Commissioner—551 rupees have been given or promised for the proposed Hospital.’
TO MISS EDITH TUCKER.
‘Aug. 18, 1892.
‘I will tell you between ourselves, for I would not trouble sweet Aunt Hamilton about anything, that, in my old age, since I have attained seventy, I have had more experience of difficulties and worries than perhaps at any other period of my long Indian career. I need not describe the worries; they are things that rub one, chafe one, make life’s burden heavier. And why are they permitted, darling? I think that they keep us in a more humble, clinging position. We cannot ask sympathy for such little things; we are pitied for some troubles; others we must keep to ourselves,—the latter perhaps try us most. But the dear Saviour knows! He experienced daily trials of patience as well as great afflictions. It is good to remember this. Christ, in addition to cruel persecution from open enemies, had to bear the dulness of perception, the weakness of faith, the ambition, the tendency to quarrel, of His daily companions. If great troubles are like the burdens which expand into wings, it seems to me as if petty worries may turn into the soft, downy little feathers which line the wings. They make our wings softer for those whom we have to shelter beneath them. For as the Lord spreads His great Wing over us, He means us to spread our small ones over others.’
TO MISS L. V. TUCKER.
‘Sept. 21, 1892.
‘You call me “Fairy Frisket,” dear. If I be like a Fairy, it is not pretty little Frisket, but rather the old woman of Nursery stories, with wrinkled face and high cap. Yet here I have frisked to Futteyghur. We have a little Christian congregation of peasant converts here, who assemble twice a day in a large, neat room, which serves for a church. It is well matted, and has a red curtain down the middle, to divide the men from the women. All sit on the ground; only Auntie, on account of her age, is allowed a low seat. It is quite easy to me to sit on the ground; but to get up again,—“there’s the rub.”
‘“What o’clock is Service?” I asked of our excellent Native Pastor. “Half-past five in the morning; afternoon half-past five. Before sunrise, and before sunset.” I thought half-past five A.M. rather early; but of course we accommodate our convenience to that of the peasants, who have to go to their work. Says I to Daisy, “You may trust me to awaken you at five!” This is no hard matter to Auntie!... When I sallied forth I could see Orion in the sky.’
A few more scattered extracts from Miss Tucker’s Journal may end this chapter.