" This was done, but the poor mother never dared to
send for her little girl. She never saw her again, but died sometime
after.
Many of the little girls in India are very pretty. They have dark eyes,
and sweet, expressive countenances. This little child grew to be a very
beautiful girl; and when she was eleven years old, some of her relations
ventured to bring her to her father. They thought that he would be
struck with the sight of his sweet child, and that he would love her for
the sake of her mother who had died. The little girl fell at his feet
and clasped his knees, and looked up in his face and said, "My father."
And what do you think that father did? Do you think that he took her up
in his arms, and kissed her? No. He seized her by the hair of her head,
drew his sword from his belt, and with a single blow took off her head.
Now, my dear children, do you not think that you ought to pray for the
poor heathen--to pray that God will send the Gospel to them? I want to
tell you of a little boy who heard me preach some time ago about the
heathen. One night he said his prayers, and went to bed. After he got
into bed, he said to the nurse, "I have forgotten to pray for the
heathen, and I must get out of bed and pray for them.
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