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 CHAPTER VIII.

So began my school-life. There is not time to tell you all about it now. There were about seventy of us there, from five to seventeen years old. Some of them had been slave girls, and could tell a story to match mine. Twice a day we gathered for meals, and we learnt to clean out our rooms, mend and wash our clothes, and make our own shoes, so as to be useful when we returned home. Then there was study and drill, and all of it was so interesting—not a bit like the dry way they teach in Chinese schools. Yet, best of all, were the Sunday services in the chapel and the class-meeting and Bible-study in the week. My feet were gradually loosened, and as they grew again I learned to skip and run with the other girls; and when I went home it was wonderful the impression made on the people in our out-of-the-way village.

Several years have gone by since I went to school and entered upon that new life. Now I am learning to teach others; for teachers are badly needed in our schools and women teachers are difficult to get. To-*day I have been thinking over my life. Like a dreadful dream there rises before me the picture of Yin-dee, the neglected little slave of a cruel woman. I see myself hobbling over the ground picking cotton, or in the evil home making tea for opium-smokers and