a kind of wild look in them, as if seeking for what they never more might find.  “Yes!  Six children died off, like little buds nipped untimely, in that cruel India.  I thought, as each died, I never could—­I never would—­love a child again; and when the next came, it had not only its own love, but the deeper love that came from the thoughts of its little dead brothers and sisters.  And when Phoebe was coming, I said to my husband, ’Sam, when the child is born, and I am strong, I shall leave you; it will cut my heart cruel; but if this baby dies too, I shall go mad; the madness is in me now; but if you let me go down to Calcutta, carrying my baby step by step, it will, maybe, work itself off; and I will save, and I will hoard, and I will beg—­and I will die, to get a passage home to England, where our baby may live?’ God bless him! he said I might go; and he saved up his pay, and I saved every pice I could get for washing or any way; and when Phoebe came, and I grew strong again, I set off.  It was very lonely; through the thick forests, dark again with their heavy trees—­along by the river’s side (but I had been brought up near the Avon in Warwickshire, so that flowing noise sounded like home)—­from station to station, from Indian village to village, I went along, carrying my child.  I had seen one of the officer’s ladies with a little picture, ma’am—­done by a Catholic foreigner, ma’am—­of the Virgin and the little Saviour, ma’am.  She had him on her arm, and her form was softly curled round him, and their cheeks touched.  Well, when I went to bid good-bye to this lady, for whom I had washed, she cried sadly; for she, too, had lost her children, but she had not another to save, like me; and I was bold enough to ask her would she give me that print.  And she cried the more, and said her children were with that little blessed Jesus; and gave it me, and told me that she had heard it had been painted on the bottom of a cask, which made it have that round shape.  And when my body was very weary, and my heart was sick (for there were times when I misdoubted if I could ever reach my home, and there were times when I thought of my husband, and one time when I thought my baby was dying), I took out that picture and looked at it, till I could have thought the mother spoke to me, and comforted me.  And the natives were very kind.  We could not understand one another; but they saw my baby on my breast, and they came out to me, and brought me rice and milk, and sometimes flowers—­I have got some of the flowers dried.  Then, the next morning, I was so tired; and they wanted me to stay with them—­I could tell that—­and tried to frighten me from going into the deep woods, which, indeed, looked very strange and dark; but it seemed to me as if Death was following me to take my baby away from me; and as if I must go on, and on—­and I thought how God had cared for mothers ever since the world was made, and would care for me; so I bade them good-bye, and set off afresh.  And once when my baby was ill, and both she and I needed rest, He led me to a place where I found a kind Englishman lived, right in the midst of the natives.”