shots and store-bought combs, they did not present an interesting pic ture. “ Besides, I’m a Christian,” thought Marie, “ and my uncle knows well that I will not marry a pagan. Yet I know he could never stand the songs of another Christian in his garden.” Pressing her head against the rough mat, Marie of fered a simple prayer to the God she loved. “Dear Jesus, take this crooked ma r r i a g e problem and make it straight. Amen.” The next day no one spoke of marriage plans. Uncle Goro com plained more than usual about his supper. Hopefully Marie decided that the affair had been laid aside for this year. Marie knew that her parent s were not Christians. During the dry, lazy months of this last year they had gone irregularly to the services in the little grass village chapel. Marie, however, had at tended the pastor’s reading class for four years. She had long ago trust ed her life to Christ, rather than the Trio spirits. Since then she had been regarded as the family Chris tian. No one minded except Uncle Goro. He still kept a spirit pot out side his door. He faithfully gave (Continued on page 30)
on the ground without complaint had gone quickly. Toward noon the sky had become full of the sun, and the musky earth wore a crust that held the weeds more firmly. Uncle Goro was first to throw down his hoe. He glared at Marie as if the hard earth were her fault. “You should have a husband to help with our garden,” he said with authority. Marie’s mother, who had never quite learned to fear her brother-in- law as she should, answered quick ly, “ She is so small. Let us wait for the dry months and then the wet months again before we talk of a son-in-law.” “ A quiet step kills more buffaloes than a sudden noise,” whispered Marie’s father to his wife. But the warning came too late. Uncle Goro had no respect for his brother’s wife. If he, the uncle who “ ate” the bride price, wished to sell his niece, then the affair was settled. He would get 10,000 francs for her bony self before the first peanuts were harvested. That night on her sleeping mat, Marie’s mind ran reluctantly down the list of boys in the surrounding villages. Tall and thin, with sling
DOESN'T AN YBO DY CARE?
Has mental illness ever touched your home? It is one of the sad dest afflictions that can befall a family, and there are so few to whom we can turn for help or understanding at such times. It is so satisfying for Christians to help the poor, or to give for missionary work—but to give solely because the love of Christ and pity for the most wretched of men constrain us is after all the most unselfish form of giving. Our Gospel worker in Greece, Brother Charles, writes as follows: “ I went to the public Mental Hos-( pital of Athens, where I handed out tracts and devotional booklets to the patients and staff. The sight was horrible. One can see there the tragic plight of man and the results of sin. Men and women, some dressed in rags and others almost naked, hungry and desolate, live just like animals. The State assistance is very small and indi vidual relief almost non-existent. A doctor said to me, ‘Where are the religious philanthropic organ izations? Nobody comes here or has ever cared for these unfortu nate creatures. If you represent any religious organization, please do make an appeal for clothing. You see their rags and nakedness. Even in winter they have only one blanket on their beds.’ ” “Nobody cares.” Is that true? Doesn’t your heart ache at the miserable condition of these poor folk for whom Christ died? Christ cares, and we as Christians surely cannot do less. If you will help us to send food, clothing and blan kets to these poor unfortunates, along with New Testaments and tracts, who knows but the very evidence of your caring may be he opening wedge to let the light of the Gospel shine into some dark ened mi nds ? You ma y help through the American Mission to Greeks, Inc., Rev. Spiros Zodhiates, General Secretary, Dept. K, P.O. Box 423, New York 36, N.Y. (In Canada: 90 Duplex Ave., Toronto 7, Ont.)
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