Yes, that is a Bible. Oh, yes, I speak English. I've spoken it ever since I was a young girl. Nearly every Parsi, you know, learns to speak English as soon as possible. We admire English people in a great many ways and try to emulate them in some things, although we are proud enough to think that we are superior to them in some others.

Yes, I'm a Parsi—that is—I'm a Parsi in race but not in religion. This Bible shows you what I am in belief. Yes, I'm a Christian, but not one of long standing, for I was baptized only one year ago.

You're an American, aren't you? I thought so, for in many ways you are like my dear Miss Miller. Won't you have this pillow at your back? Even second-class carriages are not any too comfortable. If you will let me pull that leather bag out a little from under the seat so that you can put your feet upon it, you will rest more easily. A second-class carriage is a luxury for me nowadays, since I became a Christian. I really can't afford to travel any other way than third, but I've been a little ill the last few weeks and Miss Miller insisted upon my coming second this time. You look so much like Miss Miller that you must excuse me, if I have stared at you a little impolitely since we left Grand Avenue Station.

Oh, an American is privileged to do that, you know, to watch us closely, for he is here to see a new people and to find out all he can about them. I don't mind that at all. We really expect it. We have so many Americans in Bombay that I have got quite used to it and don't notice it any more. At first I used to get embarrassed and think that they were looking at me, but I soon found out that it was only my clothes and my manners that they were interested in and that they couldn't distinguish me from any other Parsi lady; we were only a sort of curiosity to them. It wasn't exactly flattering to find it out, but still it made one feel more comfortable on the streets.

Oh, I've got quite accustomed to it now, I assure you. But you do resemble Miss Miller, if you don't mind my saying so; only she wears her hair quite plain and always dresses in gray.

She is my teacher.

Here we are at A——. I'm just selfish enough to hope that no other lady will want to get into this compartment. Since each of us has a whole seat to herself we can be pretty comfortable.

There is an unusual crowd of third-class passengers to-day, though there are always crowds here for that matter. I don't see where they get the money for all the travelling they do. Since so many pilgrimages are required in their religion the people seem to work very hard for a long time and then spend every anna that they have saved on a pilgrimage somewhere. But to-day is a special feast day at N——. That is another reason why Miss Miller insisted upon my coming second class this time, for the third was terribly crowded when we came down this noon. She is so good! She left her work just to come down and see me off, because I have been ill.

No, thank you. I don't care for a cup of tea now, for I shall reach my destination in time for tea. Oh, yes, the tea at these stations is quite safe. But I would not take the milk if I were you, for Miss Miller never does.

Oh, yes. We stop here about ten minutes. You'll have plenty of time to drink it and the man will come back with his tray and get your cup before the train starts. It is two annas a cup. Don't you want a piece of cake with it? Here, boy!

Yes, some of the stations have very good food.

The new passengers are nearly all located now and no one seems to be going to get in with us. I am so glad! Now we can be nice and comfortable.

Yes, they do keep the plants nicely watered and well taken care of at these stations. If they were not so dreadfully noisy and confused at train times, they would be pretty enough places to live in.

There goes the bell! Here comes your boy. I'll hand it to him.

Two annas. That's right. I suppose it is hard for you to get accustomed to our money; I believe it is quite different from yours, is it not?

Oh, is that some of your American money? How interesting! It is worth about three-quarters of a rupee, you say? I am so glad to have seen it. What do you call it?

A quarter! See, I'll use that word in speaking to Miss Miller some time. Won't that surprise her! She will wonder where I have learned it.

Now we are off and there isn't another station for half an hour at least. Isn't that nice? Now we can rest. Wouldn't you rather lie down?

That is very kind of you, for I do feel just like talking this afternoon. This little trip is a holiday for me, you see, and has quite excited me, almost as much as it would my little girl. But I expect that she is excited, too, this afternoon, for she knows I am coming to see her.

One little girl. I am a widow and have been so for several years.

She is in school down here at A——. And since I've been ill, Miss Miller had me come down to see her for a rest.

Indeed, I'll be glad to tell you about myself, especially about my becoming a Christian, if you would like to hear, for I love to tell that story. You Christians in America are so good to send teachers to us!

You are not a Christian! But I thought all Americans were Christians!

Don't you believe in God?

You suppose there is a God but you've never thought much about it! How strange! Don't you believe in Christ?

No? Why, how can that be possible when He has done so much for you people in America and is doing so much for us here?

Do I believe in Christ? Why, of course I do. Do you think I would be here, a penniless woman, going to see my daughter, kept in school by charity, if I did not believe in Jesus Christ; if I did not know Him personally and if I had not confessed my belief before my family and friends?

I can't understand why you do not believe in Christ, unless—yes, it must be so—you have been too busy to think about Him and you have not really needed His help yet. You never have had any trouble and felt all alone in the big world, without any one to help you, have you? Until that time comes I suppose people are too busy having a good time to think about religion. I have noticed that here in my teaching among my own people, but I did not suppose it was so in America, for I thought everybody believed there. Here I have seen that when people are kept quiet for a time because of sickness or sorrow, when they have time to think and when earthly friends cannot help, then Christ most easily makes Himself known to them. I know this is so for I have proved it myself. And I know Christ!

Yes, it does make me very happy!

Oh, I had forgotten this station. But we will stop here only a few minutes and as it is a small station I don't think any one else will get on. Here comes a gentleman to the window.

Thank you. An orange would taste good and refresh me. Although this is our cold season, it does get pretty warm in the middle of the day.

Your husband? You are taking a trip around the world for pleasure. What interesting things you must have seen! Your husband is a lecturer. Oh, I see, and he is taking pictures with his camera for his lectures, I suppose. He is going to take that boy with his pan of sweets. See?

There is the bell! He got the picture just in time.

Shall I go on with my story? But, please, don't let me tire you.

No, I'll save my orange a little while for I cannot eat when I have a chance to talk on this subject. Do you know much about the Parsis?

Well, I'll tell you a little so that you can understand my situation. We Parsis are Persians; but when the Mohammedans came into our country and began to persecute us, gained political control, and tried to make us accept their religion by force, many of us fled to India, most of whom are now settled around Bombay.

The women all dress about as I do with a little cotton waist, you see, and a one-coloured sari; delicate pinks and blues are favourite colours, edged with fancy embroidered borders, often of pure gold or silver. We wear stockings and slippers, the latter usually more elaborately embroidered than mine. We wear, also, this peculiar head-binder, a white cloth drawn tightly around the head, covering the hair under the sari. Our men invariably dress as Europeans these days, for that dress is so convenient, but they may be recognized by an oddly shaped cap which Miss Miller says looks as if it were made of what you in America call black oilcloth, I think it is. Of course the sacred emblems of Parsiism are worn under the clothing and do not show, the shirt and the kusti.

Our people have lived in India for many generations, but they have kept themselves separate from the other peoples. There has been very little intermarriage; we have kept our own religion; and we are practically a distinct people. Of course in our religion and our social customs we have been somewhat influenced by the Hindus and Mohammedans among whom we have lived so long; but we differ from them greatly. We believe in education and begin to teach our children early in life. We believe in monogamy and a happy family life. We are industrious, keen, and honest in business; and I am not overstating facts when I tell you that we are the bankers and most important business people in India. Of course we are not many in number compared with the dense population of this great land, but we are scattered throughout the whole of it, and hold, as a rule, the places of greatest influence.

Let me throw your orange peel out of this window which is already open. You've let your husband take your satchel into his compartment and you haven't a towel? That's too bad! I have a perfectly clean one in my bag; won't you please use it?

Oh, please don't mention it. I assure you it is a pleasure to me. I suppose you are more accustomed to the first-class lavatories, but, really, our second-class accommodations are comfortable; don't you think so?

No, indeed. I don't mind interruptions in my story. I'll rearrange my bag while you are gone, for I packed in a hurry and I don't just know where my things are.

It is convenient to have a lavatory for every compartment. Isn't it so in America? You don't have compartments at all! Why, how funny! I can't imagine what your trains must be like. Miss Miller says that she will take me to America with her some time. But I don't believe I'd like to leave India even for a little while, interesting as America must be.

Yes, I'll go on with my story. Well, I was the daughter of a wealthy Parsi in Bombay and we had a beautiful home in a part of the city which is now not quite so pleasant, for Bombay as it has grown towards one million in population has changed very much. I had a governess and even at ten I began the study of English in connection with my regular lessons and music. When I was about thirteen, my father, who was really a little more advanced than the average Parsi, decided to have English only spoken in our household. Knowing the value of the language in commercial relations he considered it a very important part of an education.

But I must tell you about our, that is the Parsi, religion. We are the followers of Zoroaster, you know, and we believe that God is represented by fire. Therefore fire is sacred and in our temples a fire is always kept burning, with an order of priesthood to care for it. You can see how this belief might degenerate and become a worship of fire itself, as I fear it has with many people. Even the fires in our homes have to be cared for with ceremonies of various kinds. We are taught that one should be faithful to his wife; that every one should be charitable. But we do believe in demons and must go through all sorts of rites to keep them away. You see I can't give you more than the briefest account of our belief, for it is more or less complicated as all beliefs are, but I wanted you to see that in almost every way it is superior to the other religions of India, but still lacking the vital elements of Christianity. One strange thing about our teaching is that we are not told to try to get converts; indeed, the Parsis do not want any new believers. Isn't that strange? Really, I must confess that I think we are a very self-satisfied people in every respect.

At first we did not believe in early marriages, but in that respect we have been gradually influenced by the Hindus. So at fourteen I was married to the son of a rich merchant. Of course my husband was chosen for me, but he proved to be a fine young man and we were very happy together. Part of the wedding ceremonies took place, as our weddings usually do, in the large public wedding hall which probably you saw in Bombay. Really, the customs have got to be so elaborate that a poor Parsi can hardly marry off a child without being in debt for the rest of his life. Fortunately our family, as I have said, did not lack for money and everything was beautiful. It was, indeed, a very happy and joyous occasion, a prophecy of our life together. For we were very, very happy for eight years. My husband was an unusual young man and gave promise of surpassing his father in business sagacity and literary ability. Our little girl came after two years of marriage and she was dearly beloved by him, although, of course, he would have liked a son. We were happy, oh, so happy! After he died it used to hurt me so to think about it that for two years I never spoke of my married life to any one, but since I have found Jesus, I love to think about it and speak of it.

But one day our joy was turned to sadness and our gladness to grief, for my husband was smitten with enteric fever. You know how prevalent that is here in India and how often fatal. He had been overworking at his office and in the study. Our family was too enlightened to believe that the illness was caused by demons, as most of our people do, and he was not neglected as most of our sick people are, but he had the best of English medical attention and the most tender nursing from us. He was young and strong and we fought hard, but after six weeks of deepest anxiety and all the devotion I could lavish upon him, I saw him sink away and leave me.

They took me from him while they prepared him for our peculiar funeral rites and while I myself had to go through certain ceremonies of purification. You have been to the Towers of Silence in Bombay? No? But you are going back next week. Well, when you stand upon the terrace and look across to those great towers, black around the tops with ugly vultures, think of me as on that day three years ago I stood and watched.—Please excuse my tears, but I don't usually tell this part of my story; it is too sacred; but I don't think you could understand the rest without knowing these customs of ours. You know that the elements, earth, air, fire, and water, are sacred in the sight of the Parsis and cannot be defiled by the dead; therefore we cannot bury our dead; we cannot burn them; nor can we throw their corpses into the river to be carried away by its current. So our ancestors devised the plan which we now use. Our dead are exposed upon high towers and vultures are allowed to tear away the flesh, leaving the bones to crumble. So we Parsis in Bombay have, upon a hill overlooking the harbour, really the most beautiful spot in the city, a park in which at the top of the hill are located five white towers between twenty-five and fifty feet high. The park is well cared for and contains a shrine where fire is always burning. A high terrace looks out towards the towers, about five hundred feet away, which are never approached except by the officers of the dead.

Yes, visitors are admitted to the garden by permit before nine in the morning. After that time the grounds are kept clear for funerals and mourners who come to pray for the dead.

I need not tell you of the long, sorrowful approach to the gardens on that day three years ago, or how, standing upon the terrace, I saw that dear body borne to the tower to become the prey of the ugly birds swarming about the gardens. I need not tell you either of my loneliness in our home or of my return to my father's house with only one desire in life, to bring up my child so that she should be an honour to her father.

For a year my life was very bare and my heart very heavy. I had plenty of money; I wanted for nothing; I was tenderly cared for by my family, for, you know, the Parsis do not treat their widows after the customs of the Hindus; but nothing seemed to make me even one tiny bit happier. Then one day a white lady called at our home. She was very pleasant and kind. She showed us a book of a new religion which she wanted us to read and she offered to come and read it with us every day; but my mother did not care to hear about any other religion than our own. Then the lady showed us some beautiful embroidery which we did not know how to do. When my mother expressed a wish to learn the new work, the lady offered to teach her if she might also read from the Bible at every lesson. I, too, liked to keep my fingers busy and when my mother, who excelled at needlework, could not resist the temptation and consented to let Miss Miller come, for it was indeed she, I was glad.

Once a week she came and for an hour at a time taught us various kinds of stitches and read and explained the Bible to us. My mother, after a short time, became ill and could not attend the lessons, but as I seemed to enjoy them and my mind was somewhat diverted by them from my sorrow, she still continued to allow Miss Miller to come. So I, who had become very much interested in the Bible, much more so than in the sewing, used to let my embroidery lie untouched while sometimes we would talk for a couple of hours of this Christ religion. What a beautiful religion it seemed to me! What a comforting religion! I would have something to live for and something to work for if I were a Christian. I thought of my husband's death with less bitterness, for this religion taught that I would surely see him again if I did God's will. Finally one day, one year ago, Christ spoke to my heart. I believed. I knew that Christ not only had lived but that He still lives. I cried for joy, but Miss Miller thought it was with grief and started to console me. But when I looked up with a shining face, her face shone too.

"You have found Jesus!" she said.

I answered eagerly, "I have."

And right there in my own chamber where she had been coming since my mother's illness, we knelt and prayed.

When we arose, I said, "I want to be baptized and become a Christian."

"You are a Christian now, my dear," she said.

"But I want the world to know it," I affirmed.

"That is right and brave," she answered, "but you must count the cost first."

Then she sat down beside me and gently told me what I would have to bear if I publicly took the name of Christ. She said that there were not more than twenty-five Parsi Christians in the whole world. She said that probably I would be turned out of my home, that my relatives would count me as dead, that all my wealth would be taken from me and that I would not have one anna for myself or my child.

"Think of your child! Think of yourself! I cannot urge you to do it. You must decide for yourself."

I answered quickly, "I have thought of myself. I have thought of my child. She must be a Christian and be brought up as such. Miss Miller, I have decided for myself. Jesus will take care of us. I know it in my heart for He tells me so."

So I made my decision and she said no more, but I knew she was pleased by the smile that she gave me. I would not wait for one instant lest influences might be brought to bear which I could not resist and I might be prevented from declaring my desire and fulfilling it. I took Miss Miller's hand and we went at once to my mother's room. She was not dangerously ill. When she heard my determination to become a Christian, she sent for my father from his study. Together they listened as I told all again.

"Is that decision final, my daughter?" asked my father at last, a man always of few words.

"It is," I answered with a heart yearning towards them but firm.

"Then you must go from our home, from our family. You and yours can no longer be a part of us in any way. You will receive nothing from us for your support.—You are dead to us.—If you repent of this folly," he added, turning back from the door towards which he had started with bowed head, "communicate with me and half of my fortune will be yours. But if you persist in this strange conduct," his voice grew very stern, "in ten minutes you and yours must be gone from this house."

I tried to kiss my mother good-bye but her face was turned from me towards the wall.

I returned to my apartment, took my child, my belongings and a few relics of my husband and our happy life together and within ten minutes I had left my home, perhaps forever,—but I don't think so. I believe that some day God will send me back to them at their own request; for they will yet believe as I do, I feel assured.

Miss Miller took me to her own home and trained me. I have been a Bible woman for six months now and Christians in America pay my salary. By a scholarship they also help me support and educate my daughter in a Christian school.

Am I not sorry? Look at me! I used to ride always in the first-class carriage; my saris were of silk and my borders embroidered with gold; but there was sorrow in my heart. Now, I may sit on a hard bench, crowded by dirty Hindus and my clothes may be of the cheapest cotton, but I am happy, for Christ has put joy into my life and into the life to come. He has also given me something important to do for Him. The lives of most of our Indian women are so empty! In the first-class carriage I used to have few fellow travellers; now in the third I have many, sad, needy women to whom I can tell the great story of which my own story is only a dim reflection. And to some of these women in the last six months God has given me the joy of revealing His love through Jesus Christ.

Well, if here isn't our station! Hasn't the time flown!

I hope I haven't wearied you.

Thank you very much! Kind words stay in one's memory such a long time and come back to strengthen in lonely or hard hours. I am so glad that you enjoyed my story. Won't you take time to think a little about Jesus yourself? I don't understand how an American woman, with all God has given her, can say that she does not believe in Him and love Him and His Son!

There is my little girl and here is your husband! Good-bye!

Oh, you are going to get off here too! Will I come up to the hotel some time and see you? Indeed, I shall be delighted to! And will I bring my little girl? How happy she will be to come! You must excuse my excitement for I haven't seen her for two months, you know. There, she sees me! How well and happy she looks! Will I bring my Bible with me when I come? Yes, dear lady, most gladly will I. Here, dear, this way! Good-bye! Good-bye!