Then the meeting broke up, some holding with Vishvanath, but many openly siding with Appaji.

Next morning, under Vishvanath's influence, a few of the pupils did not go to the Christian school. Most of the parents, however, refused to be moved by his threats and arguments and continued to send their children.

Appaji went to Chinchore. He easily satisfied Mr. Greyson that he was ready to take a Christian stand, and when Jayavant came back from Satara, the simple baptismal ceremony was performed.

That was the critical step which meant a final break with all, except Jayavant, who had meant most to him. From now on he was, in the eyes of his family, an outcaste. He could no longer live in his own home, and for a time he sought and found employment at Chinchore. Sitabai refused to see her husband or let little Tara see him. He took every opportunity to send them messages, but he received no reply. Many a hard fight against lonesomeness and longing for home and village did Jayavant and he fight together. But after many months, the glad word came from Sitabai that she could bear the separation no longer and would come to live with him. Arrangements were quickly made, and Sitabai and Tara came to Chinchore.

At first she tried to observe the rules of caste, but the Christian influences about her were too strong and finally both she and Tara joined the church. The family reunion was complete, and joy again crowned their humble home.

No one can measure the influence of the example of Appaji and Jayavant in their own village and in all the

region. Many Maratha boys are crowding the village schools and several have gone to the boarding-school. Some of them believe in Christ and intend openly to follow Jayavant's example by being baptised. The strength of the Satya Shodak Samaj and other agencies of reform among the middle classes grows. More and more of the slow-moving but substantial farmers, who form the backbone of India's life, are saying openly that they will all some day become Christians. When will that day come? Who can say? Appaji and Jayavant will tell you, if you ask them, that a great movement among the Marathas is near at hand. They are praying and working for it. Who knows but that they may be the very ones who are to play a leading part in the winning of the middle-class millions of India?

But for these missionaries, these humble orders of Hindu society will for ever remain unraised. . . . To the Christian missionaries belongs the credit of having gone to their humble homes, and awakened them to a sense of a better earthly existence. This action of the missionary was not a mere improvement upon ancient history, a kind of polishing and refining of an existing model, but an entirely original idea, conceived and carried out with commendable zeal, and oftentimes in the teeth of opposition and persecution . . . the heroism of raising the low from the slough of degradation and debasement was an element of civilization unknown to ancient India. -An Eminent Brahman Official in the Travancore Cen sus of 1901

IV

Out of the Mire

WE have come on our bicycles through the narrow, winding street of a little Indian village and are passing out through the large iron-bound gate in the village wall, when we hear sounds of quarreling.

“Aré, Rama! Get out of my way! Your father was a donkey and your ancestors were pigs! Get out of my way, I say!" More and still more abuse pours in loud tones from the mouth of an old woman. She is one of a crowd of Indian "outcastes" gathered in an open space between the village proper and the group of tumbledown huts which make up the outcaste quarter. They are unkempt, and their scanty clothing is, for the most part, ragged and filthy. Now they are pushing each other angrily.

As the circle opens for a moment, one can see what it is all about. There on the ground is the bloody carcass of a dead bullock. Its hide has been stripped off and taken away as a precious prize. Those nearest are trying to hack off pieces of meat. They are spotted with blood. When those of the outer group try to come up to get their share, they are roughly pushed back by those who are nearer.

A fourteen-year-old boy breaks from the group and runs toward his house with a great strip of meat. He wears a dirty little cloth about his loins,-nothing more. His body is covered with dirt, and there are sores upon his legs and head.

A few in the group are muscular. The majority are

thin and weak. They are "Mahars" by caste, the scavengers of the village, and the prize over which they are quarreling is the flesh of a bullock that had fallen dead in the village that morning.

A fine looking village headman walks by with averted face in which one can clearly read his dislike of the scene. To him, as to all Hindus of good caste, the bullock is a sacred animal. He loathes the thought of eating its meat, and as for touching the flesh of an animal that has died of disease, it is utterly disgusting to him— just as it is to us.

A boy from the outer group sees us and comes running up to appeal for our support. "Rama and his brothers will not let our party have any of the meat. They claim it all. Bali to kan pili." 1

"Is it their turn to do the village work?" we ask. “Yes,” he replies; "but always when it is our turn, we have allowed their party to have some of the meat. That has been the custom of our village."

By this time Rama and the rest have seen us. They all know us as the missionaries who are the special friends of their village and in charge of its little Christian school. Probably from a sense of shame, the quarrel subsides. Some come up to say salaam to the sahibs, while others remain at work about the carcass.

It is a typical scene in an outcaste quarter of an Indian village. Picture to yourself 53,000,000 people sentenced by society to live lives like this. Outside of each village are the outcaste quarters where such people exist in little dark mud huts. There may be several

1 A native saying, meaning, "The strong man twists others' ears."