"How do you know that I am not a Christian?"
"I was simply putting out a feeler," he said, somewhat embarrassed.
"I think I am a Christian but, probably, not according to your ideas."
"Perhaps."
"What is a Christian?" I asked, interested to know what the man's ideas were.
"When a man is saved he is a Christian."
"Isn't it rather difficult to know when such a happy state of affairs exists?" My train drew into the station at this moment and the theological dialogue was brought to a sudden conclusion. I left this simple but well-meaning person, my pocket full of his pamphlets. He was a member of the sect of "Plymouth Brethren" working by himself converting the heathen. If he uses no more tact on the natives than he did on me his efforts should be flat failures. I was told by a prominent missionary that there are many such persons in India who are labouring independently of an ecclesiastical organisation, the results of whose work are not very substantial.
Leaving our baggage at the station at Madura, Richardson and I rode in a springless cart to Pasumalai—a distance of about three miles. This cart was pulled by two bulls who were spurred on to greater speed by their naked driver who sat on the shafts and cruelly twisted their tails. We were going to call on the Rev. Dr. J.P. Jones, a prominent Congregational missionary and author of books on India, and have him outline an itinerary for us.
Dr. Jones was leaving on an inspection tour of several of the mission schools in a near-by jungle, as we arrived at his house. He asked us to accompany him and also invited us to spend a couple of days at his home. We explained that we had left our baggage in Madura and that, although we appreciated his kindness, we did not want to impose on him. He insisted and sent a coolie to Madura for our bags.
It was about noon when we left with Dr. Jones to visit the schools. The three of us rode in another seatless and springless cart drawn by two bulls. We passed through several small native settlements and towards evening came to one of about two hundred inhabitants. It was a thief caste village. Stealing was the sole trade of all the men. They made no pretence at doing anything else. Although closely guarded by the British police they were successful in robbing and looting the neighbouring villages. Each night at twelve o'clock there was a roll call but, even after this hour, they would grease their bodies in order to slip from the grasp of their pursuers, get away and carry on their work.