to prove the glory of the cause."

I suggested that live ones could glorify far more than dead ones, and
told her that I was going to take her home with me and put strength into
her body and a little judgment into her head, if I could.

She broke out again. "Oh, I cannot go! I must stay here! If work is
denied me, maybe it is my part to starve and prove my faith by selling
my soul for the highest price."

Although I was to learn that this was a favorite expression of Miss
Gray's, the meaning of which she never made quite clear to me, that day
it sounded like the melancholy mutterings of hunger. For scattering
vapors of pessimism, and stirring up symptoms of hope, I'd pin my faith
to a bowl of thick hot soup before I would a book full of sermons.

Without further argument I called to some coolies to come with a "kago,"
a kind of lie-down-sit-up basket swung from a pole, and in it we laid
the weak, protesting woman.

The men lifted it to their shoulders and the little procession, guarded
fore and aft by a policeman, moved through the sinister shadows of
Flying Sparrow street to the clearer heights of "The House of the Misty
Star."

Long training had strengthened, and association had verified my
unshakable belief that the most essential quality of the very high
calling of a missionary, is an unlimited supply of consecrated
commonsense. So far, not a vestige of it had I discovered in the devotee
I was taking to my home, but Jane Gray was as full of surprises as