to read."

"Come, come," said the missionary, "shall I bring you a playfellow, a
white child from England!"

"No, no," answered the little girl, "it would be taking her from her
parents."

"Well then," said her friend, "is there nothing I can bring you?"

"Well, if you are so kind as to insist on bringing me something, ask the
Christians in England to send me a Bible-book and more PADRI-SAHIBS."

[Illustration: MISSIONARY'S HOUSE.]

This was a good request indeed, but to get Padri-Sahibs is a hard thing
to do. Who can tell how much good they have done already! There are many
Christian villages in India, and they are as different from heathen
villages as a dove's nest is different from a tiger's den.

Some very wicked men have been converted. You have heard of those proud
and hateful beggars, the Sunnyasees and the Fakirs.

One day a missionary, who had gone for his health to the Himalaya
Mountains, was walking in the verandah of his house, when he was
surprised by a man suddenly throwing himself down at his feet, and
embracing his knees. The missionary could not tell who this man was, for
a dark blanket covered the man's head and face. But soon the covering was
lifted up, and a swarthy and withered countenance was shown; the
missionary knew it to be that of an old Fakir he once had known, as the