The Elf
"You remember what I said once, that you could
not, perhaps, put a whole crown on the head of
Jesus--that is, bring a whole country to be
His--but you might put one little jewel in His
crown."
_Bishop French, India and Arabia._
PEARL-EYES, otherwise the Elf, because it exactly describes her, was
very good for the first few weeks, after which we began to know her. She
is not a convert in any sense of the term. She is just a very wilful,
truthful, exasperating, fascinating little Oriental.
When she is, as she expresses it, "moved to sin," nobody of her own
colour can manage her. "You are only _me_ grown up," is her attitude
towards them all. She is always ready to repent, but, as Pearl
sorrowfully says, "before her tears are dry, she goes and sins again,"
and then, quite unabashed, she will trot up to you as if nothing had
happened and expect to be lavishly petted.
I never saw anyone except the Elf look interesting when naughty. She
does look interesting. She is a rather light brown, and any emotion
makes the brown lighter; her long lashes droop over her eyes in the most
pathetic manner, and when she looks up appealingly she might be an
innocent martyr about to die for her faith.
We have two other small girls with us; the Imp--but her name is a libel,
she reformed some months ago--and Tangles, who ties herself into knots
whenever she makes a remark. These three have many an argument (for
Indian children delight in discussion), and sometimes the things that
are brought to me would shock the orthodox. This is the last, brought
yesterday:
"Obedience is not so important as love. Orpah was very obedient. Her
mother-in-law said, 'Go, return,' and she did as she was told. But Ruth
was not obedient at all. Four times her mother-in-law said, 'Go,' and
yet she would not go. But God blessed Ruth much more than Orpah, because
she loved her mother-in-law. So obedience is not so important as love."
Only the day before I had been labouring to explain the absolute
necessity for the cultivation of the grace of obedience; but now it was
proved a secondary matter, for Ruth was certainly disobedient, but good
and greatly blessed.
The Elf's chief delinquencies at present, however, spring from a rooted
aversion to her share in the family housework (ten minutes' rubbing up
of brass water-vessels); an appetite for slate pencils--she would nibble
them by the inch if we would let her--"they are so nice to eat," she
says; and, most fruitful of all in sad consequences, a love of being
first.
As regards sin No. 1, I hope it will soon be a thing of the past, for
she has just made a valuable discovery: "Satan doesn't come very close
to me if I sing all the time I'm rubbing the brasses. He runs away when
he hears me sing, so I sing very loud, and that keeps him away. Satan
doesn't like hymns." And I quite agree, and strongly advise her to
persevere.
Sin No. 2 is likely to pass, as she hates the nasty medicine we give her
to correct her depraved proclivities; but No. 3 is more serious. It
opens the door, or, as she once expressed it, it "calls so many other
sins to come,"--quarrelling, pride, and several varieties of temper,
come at the "call" of this sin No. 3.
She is a born leader in her very small way, and she has not learned yet,
that before we can lead we must be willing to be led. "I will choose the
game," she remarks "and all of you must do as I tell you." Sometimes
they do, for her directions, though decisive, are given with a certain
grace that wins obedience; but sometimes they do not, and then the Elf
is offended, and walks off.
But she is the life of the game, and they chase her and propitiate her;
and she generally condescends to return, for solitary dignity is dull.
If any of the seniors happen to see it, it is checked as much as
possible, but oftener we hear of it in that very informing prayer, which
is to her quite the event of the evening; for she takes to the outward
forms of religion with great avidity, and the evening prayer especially
is a deep delight to her. She counts up all her numerous shortcomings
carefully and perfectly truthfully, as they appear to her, and with
equal accuracy her blessings large and small. She sometimes includes her
good deeds in the list, lest, I suppose, they should be forgotten in the
record of the day. All the self-righteousness latent in human nature
comes out, or used to, in her earlier days, in the evening revelations.
Here is a specimen, taken at random from the first month's sheaf. She
and the Imp had come to my room for their devotions, preternaturally
pious, both of them, though quite unregenerate. It was the Elf's turn to
begin. She settled herself circumspectly, sighed deeply, and then began.
First came the day's sins, counted on the fingers of the right hand,
beginning with the fourth finger. "Once," and down went the little
finger on the palm, "I was cross with L." (L. being the Imp, nine and a
half to the Elf's seven and a half, but most submissive as a rule.) "I
was cross because she did not do as I told her. That was wrong of me;
but it was wrong of her too, so it was only half a sin. Twice," and the
third finger was folded down, "when I did not do my work well. That was
quite all my fault. Three times," and down went the middle finger, "when
I caught a quarrel with those naughty little children; they were stupid
little children, and they would not play my game, so I spoiled unity.
But they came running after me, and they said, 'Please forgive us,' so I
forgave them. That was very good of me, and I also forgave L.; so that
is three bad things and two good things to-day."
I stopped her, and expatiated on the sin of pride, but her mind was full
of the business in hand.
"Then there were four blessings--no, five; but I can't remember the
fifth. The Ammal gave me a box for my doll, and you gave me some sweets;
and I found some nice rags in your waste-paper basket"--grubbing in
rag-bags and waste-paper baskets is one of the joys of life; rags are so
useful when you have a large family of dolls who are always wearing out
their clothes--"and I have some cakes in my own box now. There are four
blessings. But I forget the fifth."
I advised her to leave it, and begin, for the Imp was patiently waiting
her turn. She, good child, suggested the missing fifth must be the
soap--the Ammal had given each of them a piece the size of a walnut.
Yes, that was it apparently, for the Elf, contented, began--
"O loving Lord Jesus! I have done three wrong things to-day" (then
followed the details and prayer for forgiveness). "Lord, give L. grace
to do what I want her to do; and when she does not do it, Lord, give me
grace to be patient with her. I thank Thee for causing me to forgive
those little children who would not play the game I liked. Oh make them
good, and make me also good; and next time we play together give me
grace to play patiently with them. And oh, forgive all the bad things I
have done to-day; and I thank Thee very much for all the good things I
have done, for I did them by Thy grace." Praise for mercies followed in
order: the cardboard box, the lump of sugar-candy, the spoils from the
waste-paper basket, those sticky honey-cakes--which, to my disquietude,
I then understood were secreted in her seeley box--and that precious bit
of soap. Then--and this is never omitted--a fervently expressed desire
for safe preservation for herself and her friends from "the bites of
snakes and scorpions, and all other noxious creatures, through the
darkness of the night, and when I wake may I find myself at Thy holy
feet. Amen."
No matter how sleepy she is, these last phrases, which are quite of her
own devising, are always included in the tail-end of her prayer. She
would not feel at all safe on her mat, spread on the ground out of doors
in hot weather, unless she had so fortified herself from all attacks of
the reptile world. And when, one day, we discovered a nest of some few
dozen scorpions within six yards of her mat, not one of which had ever
disturbed her or any of her "friends," we really did feel that funny
little prayer had power in it after all.
You cannot interrupt in the middle of those rather confusing
confessions, she is far too much engaged to be disturbed, but when the
communication is fairly over, and she cuddles on your knee for the
kissing and caressing she so much appreciates, you have a chance of
explaining things a little.
She listened seriously that evening, I remember, then, slipping down off
my knee, she added as a sort of postscript, very reverently, "O Lord
Jesus, I prayed it wrong. I was naughtier than L., much naughtier. But
indeed Thou wilt remember that she was naughty first. . . . Oh, that's
not it! It was not L., it was me! And I was impatient with those little
children. But . . . but they caused impatience within me." Then getting
hopelessly mixed up between self-condemnation and self-justification,
she gave it up, adding, however, "Next time we play together, give
_them_ more grace to play patiently with me," which was so far
satisfactory, as at first she had scouted the idea that there could be
any need of patience on the other side.
Sometimes she brings me perplexities not new to most of us. "This
morning I prayed with great desire, 'Lord, keep me to-day from being
naughty at all,' and I was naughty an hour afterwards; I looked at the
clock and saw. How was it I was naughty when I wanted to be good? The
naughtiness jumped up inside me, so"--(illustrating its supposed action
within), "and it came running out. So what is the use of praying?"
Once the difficulty was rather opposite.
"Can you be good without God's grace?"
I told her I certainly could not.
"Well, I can!" she answered delightedly. "I want to pray now."
"Now? It is eight o'clock now. Haven't you had prayer long ago?" (We all
get up at six o'clock.)
"No. That's just what I meant. I skipped my prayer this morning, and so
of course I got no grace; but I have been helping the elder Sisters.
Wasn't that right?"
"Yes, quite right."
"And yet I hadn't got any grace! But I suppose," she added reflectively,
"it was the grace over from yesterday that did it."
As a rule she is not distinguished for very deep penitence, but at one
time she had what she called "a true sense of sin" which fluctuated
rather, but was always hailed, when it appeared in force, as a sign of
better things. After a day of mixed goodness and badness the Elf prayed
most devoutly, "I thank Thee for giving me a sense of sin to-day. O God,
keep me from being at all naughty to-morrow. But if I am naughty, Lord,
give me a true sense of sin!"
[Illustration: We value this photo exceedingly, it was so hard to get.
We were in a big heathen village when we saw this Ugly Duckling, in fact
she was one of the most tiresome of the "rabbits" mentioned in Chapter
I. She saw us, and darted off and climbed a wall and made faces at us in
a truly delightful manner. We thought we would take her, and tried. As
well try to pick up quicksilver; she would not be caught. The deed was
finally done when she had not the least idea of it, and the camera gave
a triumphant click as it snapped her unawares. "What do they want her
for?" inquired a grown-up bystander, who had observed our little game.
"Look at her hair," said another, "they never saw hair like that in
England, that's what they want her for!"]
Professor Drummond speaks of our whole life as a long-drawn breath of
mystery, between the two great wonders--the first awakening and the last
sleep. I often think of that as I listen to the little children talking
to each other and to us. They are always wondering about something. One
day it was, "Do fishes love Jesus?" followed by "What is a soul?" The
conclusion was, "It's the thing we love Jesus with." When they first
come to us they invariably think that mountains grow like trees: "Stones
are young mountains, aren't they? and hills are middle-aged mountains."
Later on, every printed thing on a wall is a text. We were in a railway
station, on our way to the hills: "Look! oh, what numbers and numbers of
texts! But what queer pictures to have on texts!" One was specially
perplexing; it was a well-known advertisement, and the picture showed a
monkey smoking a cigar. What could that depraved animal have to do with
_a text_? When we got to the hills the first amazement was the sight of
the fashionable ladies wearing veils. "Don't they like to look at God's
beautiful world? Do they like it better _spotty_?"
Tangles has another name; it is the "Ugly Duckling," and it is extremely
descriptive; but Ugly Duckling or not, she is of an inquiring turn of
mind, and one Saturday afternoon, after standing under a tree for fully
five minutes lost in thought, she came to me with a question: "What are
the birds saying to each other?" I looked at the Ugly Duckling, and she
twisted herself into a note of interrogation, in the ridiculous way she
has, but her face was full of anxiety for enlightenment about the
language of the sparrows. "There," she said, pointing vigorously to the
astonished birds, which instantly flew away, "that little sparrow and
this one are making quite different noises. What are they saying? I
do want to know so much!"
As I imagined the birds in question had just been having supper, I told
her what I thought they were probably saying. Next day, in the sermon,
there was something about the praise all creation offers to God, and I
saw Tangles knotting her hands together and going into the queerest
contortions in appreciation of the one bit of the sermon she could
understand.
The Imp's questions were various. "What is that?"--pointing to a
busy-bee clock--"is it an English kind of insect? Don't its legs get
tired going round? Oh! is it dead now?" (when it stopped). "Who made
Satan?" was an early one. "Why doesn't God kill him immediately, and
stamp on him?" One day I was trying to find and touch her heart by
telling her how very sorry Jesus is when we are naughty. She seemed
subdued, then--"Amma, where was the Queen's spirit after she died and
before they buried her, _and what did they give it to eat_?"
"Did you see Lot's wife?" was a question which tickled the Bishop when,
on his last visitation, he gave himself up to an hour's catechising upon
his tour in the Holy Land. They were disappointed that he had to confess
he had not. "Oh, I suppose the salt has melted," was the Elf's comment
upon this.
Tangles is distinctly inclined to peace. The Elf, I grieve to say, is
not. Yesterday she announced a quarrel: "I feel cross!" Tangles objected
to quarrel. "I do feel cross!" and the Elf apparently showed
corroborative symptoms. Then Tangles looked at her straight: "I'm not
going to quarrel. The devil has arrived in the middle of the afternoon
to interrupt our unity, and I won't let him!" which so touched the Elf
that she embraced her on the spot; and then, in detailing it all in her
prayer in the evening, this incorrigible little sinner added, with real
emotion, "Lord, I am not good. I spoiled unity with L." (the Imp), "and
Thou didst feel obliged to remove her to a boarding-school. Now do help
me not to spoil unity with P." (who is Tangles), "lest Thou shouldst
feel obliged to remove her also to a boarding-school,"--a view of the
Imp's promotion which had not struck me before.
Tangles and she belong to the same Caste, and Tangles has the character
of that Caste as fully developed as the Elf, and can hold her own
effectually. Also she is a little older and taller, and being the Elf's
"elder sister," is, therefore, entitled to a certain measure of respect.
All those small things tend to the discipline of the Elf, who is very
small for her age, and who would have preferred a junior, of a meek and
mild disposition, and whose constant prayer is this: "O Lord, bring
another little girl out of the lion's mouth, but, O Lord, please let her
be a _very little girl_!" Shortly after this prayer began, a very little
girl was brought; but she was a vulgar infant, and greatly tried the
Elf, and she was, for various reasons, promptly returned to her parents.
After this episode the prayer varied somewhat: "Lord, let her be a
_suitable_ child, and give me grace to love her from my heart when she
comes."
The conversation of these young creatures is often very illuminating,
and always most miscellaneous. The Elf's mind especially is a sort of
small curiosity shop, and displays many assortments. The Elf, Tangles,
and little Delight (Delight is a youthful Christian) are curled up on
the warm red sand with their three little heads close together. The Elf
is telling a story. I listen, and hear a marvellous muddle of the
_Uganda Boys_ and _Cyril of North Africa_. "He was only six years old,
and he stood up and said, 'What you are going to do, do quickly! I am
not afraid. I am going to the Golden City!' And they showed him the
sword and the fire, and he said, 'Do it quickly!' and they chopped off
his arm, and said, 'Will you deny Jesus?' and he said, 'No!' and they
chopped off his other arm,"--and so on through all the various limbs in
most vivid detail,--"and then they threw him on the fire, and burnt him
till he was ashes; and he sang praises to Jesus!"
The Elf leans to the tragic. Tangles' mother had a difference of opinion
with a friend. The friend snatched at her opponent's ear jewels, and
tore the ear. Life with a torn ear was intolerable, so Tangles' mother
walked three times round the well, repeated three times, "My blood be on
your head!" and sprang in. She rose three times, each time said the same
words, and then sank. All this Tangles confided to the Elf, who
concocted a game based upon the incident--which, however, we ruthlessly
squashed. They are tossing pebbles now, according to rules of their own,
and talking vigorously. "The Ammal told me all the people in England are
white, and I asked her what they did without servants, and she said they
had white servants, _white servants_!!" and the note of exclamation is
intense. The others are equally astonished. White people as servants!
The two ideas clash. They have never seen a white servant. In all their
extensive acquaintance with white people they have only seen
missionaries (who are truly their servants, though they hardly realise
it yet), and occasionally Government officials, whose mastership is very
much in evidence. So they are puzzled. They get out of the difficulty,
however. "At the beginning of the beginning of England, black people
must have gone to be the white people's servants, and they gradually
grew white." Yes, that's it apparently; they faded.
The conversation springs higher. "Do you know what lightning is? I'll
tell you. I watched it one whole evening, and I think it's just a little
bit of heaven's light coming through and going back again." This sounds
probable, and great interest is aroused. They are discussing the sheet
lightning which plays about the sky in the evening before rain. "Of
course it isn't much of heaven's light, only a little tiny bit getting
out and running down here to show us what it is like inside. One night I
shut my eyes, and it ran in and out, in and out, oh so fast! Even if I
shut my eyes I saw it running inside my eyes."
"Did you get caned in school to-day?"
"No, not exactly caned," and an explanation follows. "I was standing
beside a very naughty little girl, and the teacher meant to cane her,
but the cane fell on me by mistake. I wanted to cry, because it hurt,
but I thought it would be silly to cry when it hurt me quite by mistake.
So I didn't cry one tear!"
The Elf hit upon a capital expedient for escaping castigation (which is
never very severe). "I found this cane myself. It was lying on the
ground in the compound, and I am going to take it to the teacher."
Chorus of "Why?" "Because," and the Elf looked elfish, "if I give it to
him with my own hands, how will he cane my hands with it? His heart will
not be hard enough to cane me with the cane I gave him!" and the little
scamp looks round for applause. Chorus of admiring "Oh!"
Then they begin again, the Elf as usual chief informant. "I know
something!" Chorus, "What?" "A beautiful doll is waiting for me in a
box, and I'm going to have it at Ki-rismas!" "What sort of a doll?" is
the eager inquiry. "I don't know exactly, but God sent it, of course, so
I think it must be something like an angel." Chorus, delightedly, "Ah!"
"Yes, if it came from God, then of course it came from heaven, and
heaven is the place all the angels come from, and they are white and
shining, so I think it will be white and shining like an angel." The
doll in question is a negress with a woolly head and a scarlet-striped
pinafore. It had not struck me as angelic. It is an experiment in dolls.
Will it "take"? Ki-rismas came at last, and the heavenly doll with it,
but it did not "take." Grievous were the tears and sobs, and the
bitterest wail of all was, "I thought God would have sent me a nicer
doll!" We changed it for a "nicer doll," for the poor Elf was not
wicked, only broken-hearted, and Star, who is supposed to be much too
old for dolls, begged for the despised black beauty; because, as the Elf
maliciously remarked as she hugged her white dolly contentedly, "That
black thing has a curly head, just like Star's!"
The habit of praying about everything is characteristic of the Elf, and
more than once her uninstructed little soul has grieved over the strange
way our prayers are sometimes answered. One day she came rushing in full
of excitement. "Oh, may I go and be examined? The Government Missie
Ammal is going to examine our school! Please let me go!" The Government
Missie Ammal, a great celebrity who only comes round once a year, was
staying with us, and I asked her if the child might have the joy of
being examined even though she had not had nearly her year at school.
She agreed, for the sake of the little one's delight--for an Indian
child likes nothing better than a fuss of any kind--to let her come into
the examination room, and take her examination informally. We knew she
was sure of a pass. An hour or two afterwards a scout came flying over
to tell us the awful news. The Elf had failed, utterly failed, and she
was so ashamed she wouldn't come back, "wouldn't come back any more." I
went for her, and found her a little heap of sobs and tears, outside the
schoolroom. I gathered her up in my arms and carried her home, and tried
to comfort her, but she was crushed. "I asked God so earnestly to let me
pass, and I didn't pass! And I thought He had listened, but now I know
He didn't listen at all!"
I was puzzled too, though for a different reason. I knew she should
easily have passed, and I could only conclude her wild excitement had
made her nervous, for with many tears she told me, "I did not know one
answer! not even one!" And again she came back to the first and sorest,
"Oh, I did think God was listening, and He wasn't listening at all!"
At last I got her quieted, and explained, by means of a rupee and an
anna, how sometimes God gives us something better than we ask for; we
ask for an anna, and He gives us a rupee. A rupee holds sixteen annas.
She grew interested: "Then my passing that examination was the anna. But
what is the rupee?" Now the Elf, as you may have observed, is not
weighted with over much humility, so I told her I thought the rupee must
be humility. She considered a while, then sliding off my knee, she knelt
down and said, with the utmost gravity and purpose, "O God! I did not
want that kind of answer, but I do want it now. Give me the rupee of
humility!" Then springing up with eyes dancing with mischief, "Next time
I fall into pride you will say, 'Oh, where is that rupee?'"
When the school examinations were over, and the Missie Ammal came back
to rest, I asked her about the Elf. "She really did very badly, seemed
to know nothing of her subjects; should not have gone in, poor mite!" It
suddenly struck me to ask what class she had gone into. "The first,"
said the Missie Ammal. "But she is in the infants'!" Then we understood.
The Elf had only been at school for a few months, and had just finished
the infant standard book, and had been moved into the first a day or two
before, as the teacher felt she was well able to clear the first course
in the next six months and take her examination in the following year,
two years' work in one. But it was not intended she should go in for
the Government examination, which requires a certain time to be spent in
preparation; so when, in the confusion of the arrangement of the
classes, she stood with her little class-fellows of two days only, the
mistake was not noticed. No wonder the poor Elf failed! We never told
her the reason, not desiring to raise fresh questions upon the
mysterious ways of Providence in her busy little brain; and to this day,
when she is betrayed into pride, she shakes her head solemnly at
herself, and remembers the rupee.
She has lately been staying with the Missie Ammals, "my very particular
friends," as she calls them, at the C.E.Z. House, in Palamcottah. She
returned to us full of matter, and charged with a new idea. "I am no
more going to spend my pocket money upon vanities. I am going to save it
all up, and buy a _Gee-lit Bible_." This gilt-edged treasure is a
fruitful source of conversation. It will take about six years at the
rate of one farthing a week to save enough to buy exactly the kind she
desires. "I don't want a _common_ Bible. It must be _gee-lit_, with
shining _gee-lit_ all down the leaves on the outside, and the name on
the back all _gee-lit_ too. That's the kind of Bible I want!" Just as I
wrote that, she trotted in and poured three half-annas in small change
upon the table. "That's all I've got, and it's six weeks' savings. Six
years is a long, long time!" She confided to me that she found "the
flesh wanted to persuade" her to spend these three half-annas on cakes.
"It is the flesh, isn't it, that feeling you get inside, that says
'sweets and cakes! sweets and cakes!' in a very loud voice? I listened
to it for a little, and then I wanted those sweets and cakes! So I said
to myself, If I buy them they will all be gone in an hour, but if I buy
that Gee-lit Bible it will last for years and years. So I would not
listen any more to my flesh." Then a sudden thought struck her, and she
added impressively, "But when _you_ give me sweets and cakes, that is
different; the feeling that likes them is not 'flesh' then. It is only
'flesh' when I'm tempted to spend my Gee-lit Bible money on them." This
was a point I was intended thoroughly to understand. Sweets and cakes
were not to be confused with "flesh" except where a Gee-lit Bible was
concerned. She seemed relieved when I agreed with her that such things
might perhaps sometimes be innocently enjoyed, and with a sudden and
rather startling change of subject inquired, "Do they _never_ have
holidays in hell?"