“Ah!”
“She read the book nights, while watching by her baby, and then she would kneel down and pray as the teacher had done. At last the Sah-ya got the writing.”
“What did he do with it?”
“Only burnt it. But she was a tender little creature, and could not bear his look; so, as the baby got out of danger, she took the fever—”
“And died?” asked the missionary, remarking some hesitation in the manner of his narrator.
“Not of the fever altogether.”
“What then? Surely, he did not—”
“No, Tsayah! it must have been an angel-call. The Sah-ya was very fond of her, and did everything to save her; but she just grew weaker, day after day, and her face more beautiful; and there was no holding her back. She got courage as she drew near Paradise, and begged the Sah-ya to send for you. He is not a hard-hearted man, and she was more than life and soul to him; but he would not send. And so she died, talking to the last moment of the Lord Jesus Christ, and calling on everybody about her to love him, and worship none but him.”
“Is this true, Shway-bay?”
“I know nothing about it, Tsayah; and it is not very safe to know anything. The Sah-ya has taken an oath to destroy every body having too good a memory. But,”—and the man again looked cautiously around him—“does the teacher think that little Burman children are likely to run into the arms of foreigners without being taught?”