The _Sah-ya_ tried to smile, tried to look unconcerned; but his easy nonchalance of manner seemed utterly to forsake him in his need; and finally abandoning the attempt to renew his former tone of banter, he answered quietly, “I have heard of a writing you possess, which, by your leave, I will take home and read to Moung-Moung.”
The missionary selected a little tract from the parcel on the table beside him, and extended it to his visitor. “_Sah-ya_,” said he, solemnly, “I herewith put into your hands the key to eternal life and happiness. This active, intelligent soul of yours, with its exquisite perception of moral beauty and loveliness,” and he glanced toward the child, “cannot be destined to inhabit a dog, a monkey, or a worm, in another life. God made it for higher purposes; and I hope and pray that I may yet meet you, all beautiful, and pure, and glorious, in a world beyond the reach of pain or death, and above all, beyond the reach of sin.”
Up to this time the boy had sat upon his mat like a statue of silence; his usually dancing eyes fixed steadfastly upon the speakers, and gradually dilating and acquiring a strange, mystic depth of expression, of which they seemed at first incapable. At these words, however, he sprang forward.
“Papa! papa! hear him! Let us both love the Lord Jesus Christ! My mother loved him; and in the golden country of the blest she waits for us.”
“I must go,” said the _Sah-ya_ hoarsely, and attempting to rise.
“Let us pray!” said the missionary, kneeling down.
The child laid his two hands together, and placing them against his forehead, bowed his head to the mat; while the father yielded to the circumstances of the case so far as to re-seat himself. Gradually, as the fervent prayer proceeded, his head drooped a little; and it was not long before he placed his elbows on his knees, and covered his face with his hands. As soon as the prayer was ended, he rose, bowed in silence, took his child by the hand, and walked away.
Day after day went by, the _Sah-ya_, as he passed the zayat, always saluting its occupant respectfully, but evincing no disposition to cultivate his acquaintance farther. He was accompanied by the boy less often than formerly; but, from casual opportunities, the missionary remarked that a strange look of thoughtfulness had crept into the childish face, softening and beautifying, though scarcely saddening it. And when occasionally the little fellow paused for a moment, to ask for a book, or exchange a word of greeting, the gay familiarity of his manner seemed to have given place to a tender, trustful affection, somewhat tinctured with awe.
Meanwhile that terrible scourge of Eastern nations, the cholera, had made its appearance, and it came sweeping through the town with its usual devastating power. Fires were kindled before every house, and kept burning night and day; while immense processions continually thronged the streets with gongs, drums, and tom-toms, to frighten away the evil spirits, and so arrest the progress of the disease. The zayat was closed for lack of visitors; and the missionary and his assistants busied themselves in attending on the sick and dying.
It was midnight when the over-wearied foreigner was roused from his slumbers by the calls of the faithful Ko Shway-bay.
“Teacher, teacher, you are wanted!”
“Where?”
The man lowered his voice almost to a whisper; but, putting his hands to each side of his mouth, sent the volume of sound through a crevice in the boards. “At the _Sah-ya’s_.”
“Who?”
“I do not know, _Tsayah_. I only heard that the cholera was in the house, and the teacher was wanted, and so I hurried off as fast as possible.”
In a few minutes the missionary had joined his assistant, and they proceeded on their way together. As they drew near the house, the Burman paused in the shadow of a bamboo hedge.
“It is not good for either of us, that we go in together; I will wait you here, _Tsayah_.”
“No, you need rest; and I shall not want you—go!”
The verandah was thronged with relatives and dependents; and from an inner room came a wild, wailing sound, which told that death was already there. No one seemed to observe the entrance of the foreigner; and he followed the sound of woe till he stood by the corpse of a little child. Then he paused in deep emotion.
“He has gone up to the golden country, to bloom forever amid the royal lilies of Paradise,” murmured a voice close to his ear.
The missionary, a little startled, turned abruptly. A middle-aged woman, holding a palm-leaf fan to her mouth, was the only person near him.