Star of Light by Patricia M. St. John Page B

her aunt.
    Jenny was off in a flash.
    “Now bring me those white tablets on the thirdshelf over there,” her aunt went on, speaking very gravely, and Jenny had the uncomfortable feeling that her aunt disapproved of her.
    “Now please rinse out the cup and spoon with some of that boiled water. Crush up one tablet and mix it with a little water. Pass me that bottle.”
    Jenny forgot her temper, forgot her aunt, and forgot herself. She knelt perfectly still on the mat, only conscious of the weak gurgling sound as the baby tried to swallow. Almost drop by drop the medicine disappeared and the baby was not sick. After a few more spoonfuls of sweetened water, Rosemary began talking to the mother in Arabic, explaining that she must sit quietly for an hour and then they would give the child another drink.
    “It must get better,” muttered Jenny to herself. “It must! It must!”
    And then Rosemary did something that surprised Jenny. She pointed to the picture on the wall of Jesus holding a child in His arms, and told the woman all about it. Then she prayed aloud for the sick little baby. Jenny could not understand what her aunt was saying, but she knew she was praying.
    I wonder if that really does any good
, thought Jenny, and she, too, glanced up at the painting on the wall. Somehow the sight of the child in the picture being held so closely made the real baby seem safer.
    “It’s sure to get better,” breathed Jenny to herself, bending over it again. And as she watched, the weak eyelids fluttered, and the baby opened her eyes.

A Light Begins to Shine

    T hey didn’t need to make any further plans, for Jenny announced firmly that they were going to stay in the town until it was time to go home to England, and she was going to be Kinza’s nurse and help Aunt Rosemary every day with the sick babies in the clinic.
    Mr. Swift laughed comfortably and then wondered what he was going to do with himself in a remote mountain village for two weeks. Mrs. Swift sighed anxiously and insisted that Jenny should gargle three times a day. Jenny herself was openly thrilled, and Rosemary was secretly very happy. She felt the holiday was going to be a complete success.
    It was Sunday afternoon, and on Sunday no one came to the clinic. There had been a meeting for women in the afternoon, and Jenny watched themleaving, walking slowly down the street with their babies tied tightly on their backs under the white outer garments that covered them from head to toe.
    “They look like camels with humps, carrying their babies like that,” remarked Jenny. “You’d think their babies would be suffocated, wouldn’t you? Why don’t they have baby carriers like ordinary people?”
    “They couldn’t afford to buy them,” replied Rosemary, smiling. “But it certainly isn’t a very good way to carry them. A lot of babies grow up with weak lungs through lack of fresh air. You’ve noticed how pale some of them look.”
    “And spotty and thin and dirty,” added Jenny, wrinkling her small nose. “It’s a pity there aren’t more people like you to teach them how to look after their babies properly. You know, Auntie, I’ve been thinking. I’ve decided that when I grow up I’m going to be a missionary too. I’m going to come out here and have a clinic and make all the sick people better like you do. I think it’s such fun.”
    Rosemary looked down into Jenny’s brown, confident face, and she didn’t answer for a moment or two.
    “You couldn’t be a missionary unless something very important happened to you first, Jenny,” she said at last.
    “Why not, Auntie?” inquired Jenny, surprised. “I could learn to be a nurse and how to look after babies. I wouldn’t need to know anything else, would I?”
    “Yes, I think you would,” replied Rosemary with a smile, “but I’m not going to tell you here in thepassage. Let’s take a picnic tea to the Tower Gardens, and then we can talk about it. Kinza will be awake by now, and she loves the