There were ten to be taught at first—and these ten instructed others, and so on. Siyyid Mustafa visited them regularly and helped with all their affairs. A school was started, then a Mashriqu’l-Adhkár, and later ground was given them for community cultivation—the proceeds to be used for the Cause. There are sixty-five acres in all and last year the rice sold from this netted almost one hundred pounds sterling.

We had a great desire to see this Bahá’í village and decided to make the trip, in spite of all the discouragement we received from the English residents of Rangoon. They told us of all the hardships of the trip, which must be made in one day, and assured us that we probably would not return from the jungle alive and they knew nothing of the Bahá’ís and thought we were a lot of quite mad Americans bent on sight-seeing.

Siyyid Mustafa sent a man to Kunjangoon a day ahead of us bearing food, cooking utensils, etc., as these friends are unprepared for visitors or to do our sort of cooking.

We were up before daybreak and on the river by sunrise. The life of the East begins early, so already the little ferry was crowded with natives taking the river journey. They made a picturesque group—squatting amongst their gaily colored robes that rival the sunrise in crimson and blues.

In our tiny, first-class compartment there were already two men, a Burman and an American missionary who had been in the East twenty-one years. Siyyid Mustafa lost no time in giving them the Bahá’í Message, and we wondered how he had contained himself for two years when getting to know and understand the people of Kunjangoon!

Mr. Jones, the missionary, was to meet a co-worker at our stop, Twante, and then proceed to another village by the same boat. But we think ‘Abdu’l-Bahá had this trip in hand, and other things had been planned for this day.

When we landed, the second missionary (Mr. Spear) rushed on board and told Mr. Jones that plans had changed and they were both to go to Kunjangoon. We had met Mr. Spear in one of the shops a few days before, and when he saw us in this out-of-the-way place his amazement was ridiculous. “What,” he said, “are you American ladies doing in this jungle place-it is too curious!”

We asked them to follow in their car and have luncheon with us and see our eight hundred Bahá’ís—a still more unexpected sight.

We were met in a Ford car by two of the friends and driven to the village—twenty-six miles away. What a marvelous sight to see all our Bahá’í sisters and brothers awaiting us, dressed in holiday attire of most colorful materials. Lined up on both sides of the road as we approached, their joyous welcome of “Alláh-u-Abhá” rang forth. Such shining faces and eager curiosity combined would be difficult to picture.

There were four in our party, and before this the only Western Bahá’í they had ever seen was Mrs. Schopflocher. Everyone seemed anxious to be of some service to us, the only one for the moment being to reach for our wraps and parasols. They led us to the schoolhouse (of course, this was a holiday for the one hundred and fourteen children who attended), and grouped themselves about us on the floor—the men and old Bahá’ís taking precedence in front and the women and children in the rear. Then they sang Bahá’í hymns to welcome us—taught them in Persian by Siyyid Mustafa. The rafters rang with the pure joy afloat; and where the chorus was caught up by all the men one could almost see the volume of sound floating through the open doors, on through the sunbaked air to the nearby houses—just as one sees heat vibrations. Or was it just the tumult of my heart, and the mist in my eyes, that made the air seem vibrant?