The poor Santals must feel dreadfully cold just now, especially the children, who have hardly anything on.  Mrs. Russel has a big trunk full of things sent out from home as presents to the Mission—­pieces of calico, and various kinds of garments—­and these are given as prizes to the children who attend the Christian schools.  The pieces of cloth which they can wind round them are the most valued prizes.  Some of the garments are too ridiculous.  Shapeless sacks of pink flannelette, intended, I suppose, for shirts; and such-like.  This morning there was a prize-giving.  The big trunk was brought into the verandah, and the children were allowed to choose.  One small boy chose a dressing-gown of a material known, I believe, as duffle, of a striking pattern.  In this he arrayed himself with enormous pride:  a wide frilled collar stood out round his little thin neck, and, to complete the picture, he carried a bow and arrow.  A quainter figure I never saw!  I only wished the well-meaning Dorcas who made the garment could have seen him.  A little missionary from somewhere in West Africa once told me about a small orphan native she had rescued and adopted.

“I had him christened,” she said plaintively.  “I had him christened David Livingstone, and I dressed him in a blue serge man-of-war suit; but he ran away.”  I murmured sympathy, but I couldn’t feel surprised.  Imagine a little heathen David Livingstone, in a hot, sticky serge suit!

These bows and arrows, by the way, are rather interesting.  The natives make them of bamboo and strips of hide, and they are tipped with iron.  They really shoot things with them—­birds and wild animals, I mean.  I bought one from the owner of the dressing-gown for four annas, to take home to Peter.  It seemed very little for a real bow and arrow, but Dr. Russel said it was quite enough; and when one comes to think of it, it is double a man’s day’s wage.  I am enjoying myself at Takai.  As the man said when he lost his wife, “It’s verra quiet but verra peacefu’.”  After Calcutta, the quiet does seem almost uncanny.

It is a blameless existence one leads.  I think I would soon grow very good, for there is no temptation to be anything else.  One can’t be very frivolous when there is no one to be frivolous with; nor can one backbite and be unkind, for there is no provocation.  As for being vain and fond of the putting on of apparel, what is the good when one is the Best People if one wears a garment of any description?

Although there is nothing to do, the days never seem too long.  After chota-hazri I generally go for a walk with the children.  There is one good broad road passing the bungalow which leads away to the Back of Beyond, but we prefer the little tracks worn by the feet of the natives, which criss-cross everywhere.  Jean won’t stir a step without a horrid, dilapidated rag doll called Topsy.  I do dislike the faces of rag dolls, their lack of profile is so gruesome, and Topsy is a most depressing specimen