<h2>CHAPTER XIII</h2>
<h3>A Story of Comfort</h3>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/illus-14.jpg" width-obs="550" height-obs="389" alt="SEELA IS THE BABY IN THE MIDDLE. She slipped into the picture at the last moment, and so was caught unawares. Mala is to the right; Nullinie to the left. (This little one's left hand and foot are partially paralyzed through drugging in infancy.)" title="" /> <span class="caption">SEELA IS THE BABY IN THE MIDDLE.<br/>She slipped into the picture at the last moment, and so was caught unawares. Mala is to the right; Nullinie to the left. (This little one's left hand and foot are partially paralyzed through drugging in infancy.)</span> <br/><br/></div>
<div class='cap'>AMONG the stories of comfort is one that belongs to
our merry little Seela. She is bigger now than
when the despairing photographer broke thirteen
plates in the vain attempt to catch her; but she is still
most elusive and alluring, a veritable baby, though over
two years old. Some months ago, the Iyer measured her,
and told her she was thirty-two inches of mischief. For
weeks afterwards, when asked her name, she always replied
with gravity, "Terty-two inses of mistef."</div>
<p>All who have to do with babies know how different
they can be in disposition and habits. There is the shop-window
baby, who shows all her innocent wares at once
to everyone kind enough to look. She is a charming
baby. And there is the little wild bird of the wood, who
will answer your whistle politely, if you know how to
whistle her note; but she will not trust herself near you
till she is sure of you. Seela is that sort of baby. We
have watched her when she has been approached by some
unfamiliar presence, and seen her summon all her baby
dignity to keep her from breaking into tears of overwhelming
shyness. Give her time to observe you from
under long, drooping lashes; give her time to make sure—then<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</SPAN></span>
the mischief will sparkle out, and something of
the real child. But only something, never all, till you
become a relation; with those who are only acquaintances
Seela, like Bala, has many reserves.</p>
<p>Seela's joy is to be considered old and allowed to go
to the kindergarten. She takes her place with the bigger
babies, and tries to do all she sees them do. Sometimes
a visitor looks in, and then Seela, naturally, will do nothing;
but if the visitor is wise and takes no notice, she will
presently be rewarded by seeing the eager little face light
up again, and the fat hands busily at work. Seela is not
supposed to be learning very seriously; but she seems to
know nearly as much as some of the older children, and
her quaint attempts at English are much appreciated.
Seela has her faults. She likes to have her own way, and
once was observed to slap severely an offender almost
twice her own size; but on the whole she is a peaceful
little person, beloved by all the other babies, both senior
and junior. Her great ambition is to follow Chellalu into
all possible places of mischief. Anything Chellalu can do
Seela will attempt; and as she is more brave than steady
on her little feet, she has many a narrow escape. Her
latest escapade was to follow her reckless leader in an
attempt to walk round the top of the back of a large
armchair, the cane rim of which is a slippery slant, two
inches wide.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Table Manners</div>
<p>On the morning of her arrival, not liking to leave her
even for a few minutes, I carried her to the early tea-table,
when she saw the Iyer and smiled her first smile to
him. From that day on she has been his loyal little
friend. At first his various absences from home perplexed
her. She would toddle off to his room and hunt everywhere
for him, even under his desk and behind his waste-paper
basket, and then she returned to the dining-room<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</SPAN></span>
with a puzzled little face. "Iyer is not!" "Where is he,
Seela?" "Gone to Heaven!" was her invariable reply.
When he returned from that distant sphere she never
displayed the least surprise. That is not our babies' way.
She calmly accepted him as a returned possession; stood
by his chair waiting for the invitation, "Climb up"; climbed
up as if he had never been away—and settled down to
bliss.</p>
<p>Part of this bliss consists in being supplied with morsels
of toast and biscuit and occasional sips of tea. Sometimes
there is that delicious luxury, a spoonful of the unmelted
sugar at the bottom of the cup. For Seela is a baby after
all, and does not profess to be like grown-up people who
do not appreciate nice things to eat, being, of course, entirely
superior to food; but, excitable little damsel as she
is in all other matters, her table manners are most correct,
and she shows her appreciation of kind attentions in
characteristic fashion. A smile, so quick under the black
lashes that only one on the look-out for it would see it,
a sudden confiding little nestle closer to the giver—these are
her only signs of pleasure; and if no notice is taken of
her, she sits in silent patience. Sometimes, if politeness be
mistaken for indifference, a shadow creeps into her eyes,
a sort of pained surprise at the obtuseness of the great;
but she rarely makes any remark, and never points or
asks, as the irrepressible Chellalu does in spite of all our
admonitions. If, however, Seela is being attended to and
fed at judicious intervals, and she knows the intention is
to feed her comfortably, then her attitude is different.
She feels a reminder will be acceptable; and as soon as
she has disposed of a piece of biscuit, she quietly holds up
an empty little hand, and glances fearlessly up to the face
that looks down with a smile upon her. This little silent,
empty hand, held up so quietly, has often spoken to us<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</SPAN></span>
of things unknown to our little girl; and as if to enforce
the lesson, the other babies, to our amusement, apparently
noticing the gratifying result of Seela's upturned hand,
began to hold up their little hands with the same silent
expectancy, till all round the table small hands were
raised in perfect silence, by hopeful infants of observant
habits and strong faith.</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/illus-15.jpg" width-obs="550" height-obs="385" alt="THE COTTAGE NURSERY." title="" /> <span class="caption">THE COTTAGE NURSERY.</span></div>
<p>Mala, the rather stolid-looking little girl to the right of
the photograph, is Seela's elder sister. She is not so square-faced
as the photograph shows her, and she is much more
interesting. This little one seems to us to have in some
special sense the grace of God upon her; for her nursery
life is so happy and blameless and unselfish, that we rarely
have to wish her different in anything. Her coming, with
little Seela's, is one of the very gladdest of our Overweights
of Joy.</p>
<p>We heard of the little sisters through a mission schoolmaster,
who—knowing that they had been left motherless,
and that a Hindu of good position had obtained something
equivalent to powers of guardianship, and thus empowered
had placed them with a Temple woman—was most anxious
to save them, and wrote to us; and, as he expressed it,
"also earnestly and importunately prayed the benign British
Government to intervene."</p>
<div class="sidenote">"And he said. . . . But God said"</div>
<p>The Collector to whom the petition was sent was a friend
of ours. He knew about the nursery work, and was ready
to do all he could; but he did not want a disturbance with
the Caste and Temple people, and so advised us to try to
get the children privately. We sent our wisest woman-worker,
Ponnamal, to the town, and she saw the principal
people concerned; but they entirely refused to give up the
children. The man who had adopted them had got his
authority from the local Indian sub-magistrate; and contended
that as the Government had given them to him,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</SPAN></span>
no one had any right to take them from him; "and even if
the Government itself ordered me to give them up, I never
will. I will never let them go." This in Tamil is even more
explicit: "The hold by which I hold them I will never let
go." Ponnamal returned, weary in mind and in body, after
three days of travelling and effort; she had caught a glimpse
of the baby, and the little face haunted her. The elder child
was reported very miserable, and she had seen nothing of
her. The guardian, of course, had not dealt with her
direct; but she heard he had taken legal advice, and was
sure of his position. There was nothing hopeful to report.
Once again we tried, but in vain. By this time a new bond
had been formed, for the guardian had become attached to
little Seela, and spent his time, so we heard, in playing with
her. He let it be known that nothing would ever make
him give her up. "She is in my hand, and my hand will
never let go."</p>
<p>Then suddenly news came that he was dead. The baby
had sickened with cholera. He had nursed her and contracted
the disease. In two days he had died. He had
been compelled to let go.</p>
<p>Then the feeling of all concerned changed completely.
It hardly needed the Collector's order, given with the
utmost promptitude, to cause the Temple woman to give
the children up. To the Indian mind, quick to see the
finger of God in such an event, the thing was self-evident.
An unseen Power was at work here. Who were they that
they should withstand it? A telegram told us the children
were safe, and next day we had them here.</p>
<p>The baby was happy at once; but the elder little one, then
a child of about three and a half, was very sorrowful. She
was so pitifully frightened, too, that at first we could do
nothing with her; and there was a look in her eyes that
alarmed us, it was so distraught and unchildlike. "My<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</SPAN></span>
mother did her best for them," wrote the kind schoolmaster
to whose house the children had been taken when the Temple
woman gave them up; "but the elder one has fever. She is
always muttering to herself, and can neither stand nor sit."
She could stand and sit now, only there was the "muttering,"
and the terrible look of bewilderment worse than pain. For
days it was a question with us as to whether she would ever
recover perfectly. That first night we had to give her
bromide, and she woke very miserable. Next day she stood
by the door waiting for her mother, as it seemed; for under
her breath she was constantly whispering, "Amma! Amma!"
("Mother! Mother!") She never cried aloud, only sobbed
quietly every now and then. She would not let us touch
her, but shrank away terrified if we tried to pet her. All
through the third day she sat by the door. This was better
than the weary standing, but pitiful enough. On the morning
of the fourth day she sat down again for a long watch; but
once when her little hand went up to brush away a tear,
we saw there was a toy in it, and that gave us hope. That
night she went to bed with a doll, an empty tin, and a ball
in her arms; and the next day she let us play with her in
a quiet, reserved fashion. Next morning she woke happy.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Teachers—unawares</div>
<p>The babies teach us much, and sometimes their unconscious
lessons illuminate the deeper experiences of life. One such
illumination is connected in my mind with the little trellised
verandah, shown in the photograph, of the cottage used as a
nursery when Mala and Seela came to us.</p>
<p>It was the hour between lights, and five babies under two
years old were waiting for their supper—Seela, Tara, and Evu
(always a hungry baby), Ruhinie, usually irrepressible, but
now in very low spirits, and a tiny thing with a face like
a pansy—all five thinking longingly of supper. These five
had to wait till the fresh milk came in, as their food was
special; that evening the cows had wandered home with<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</SPAN></span>
more than their usual leisureliness from their pasture out
in the jungle, and so the milk was late.</p>
<p>The babies, who do not understand the weary ways of
cows, disapproved of having to wait, and were fractious.
To add to their depression, the boy whose duty it was to
light the lamps and lanterns had been detained, and the
trellised verandah was dark. So the five fretful babies
made remarks to each other, and threw their toys about
in that exasperated fashion which tells you the limits of
patience have been passed; and the most distressed began
to whimper.</p>
<p>At this point a lantern was brought and set behind me,
so that its light fell upon the discarded toys, miscellaneous
but beloved—a china head long parted from its body, one
whole new doll, a tin with little stones in it, a matchbox,
and other sundries. If anything will comfort them, their
toys will, I thought, as I directed their attention to the tin
with its pleasant rattling pebbles, and the other scattered
treasures on the mat. But the babies looked disgusted. Toys
were a mockery at that moment. Evu seized the china head
and flung it as far as ever she could. Tara sat stolid, with
two fingers in her mouth. Seela turned away, evidently
deeply hurt in her feelings, and the other two cried. Not
one of them would find consolation in toys.</p>
<p>Then the pansy-faced baby, Prâsie, pointed out to the
bushes, where something dangerous, she was quite sure, was
moving; and she wailed a wail of such infectious misery that
all the babies howled. And one rolled over near the lantern
which was on the floor behind me, and for safety's sake I
moved it, and its light fell on my face. In a moment all
five babies were tumbling over me with little exclamations
of delight, and they nestled on my lap, caressing and
content.</p>
<p>Are there not evenings when our toys have no power to<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</SPAN></span>
please or soothe? There is not any rest in them or any
comfort. Then the One whom we love better than all His
dearest gifts comes and moves the lantern for us, so that our
toys are in the shadow but His face is in the light. And
He makes His face to shine upon us and gives us peace.</p>
<p>"For Thou, O Lord my God, art above all things best; . . .
Thou alone most sufficient and most full; Thou alone most
sweet and most comfortable.</p>
<p>"Thou alone most fair and most loving; Thou alone most
noble and most glorious above all things; in whom all things
are at once and perfectly good, and ever have been and
shall be.</p>
<p>"And therefore whatever Thou bestowest upon me beside
Thyself, or whatever Thou revealest or promisest concerning
Thyself, so long as I do not see or fully enjoy Thee, is too
little, and fails to satisfy me.</p>
<p>"Because, indeed, my heart cannot truly rest nor be entirely
contented unless it rest in Thee, and rise above all Thy gifts
and all things created.</p>
<p>"When shall I fully recollect myself in Thee, that through
the love of Thee I may not feel myself but Thee alone, above
all feeling and measure in a manner not known to all?"</p>
<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</SPAN></span></p>
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