"It is about the faymine in Injy," he said at last, holding his place
on the page with a long, thin forefinger, and looking up at me. "There
are three volumes, and this is the second. The third is yit to come.
I pay a dollar a year and every year I gits a new volume. It's a grand
book, too, Mark. It was wrote by one of our brethren, Brother Matthias
Pennel, who went to Injy in charge of a shipload of grain gathered by
our people for the sufferin' heathen. The first volume tells all about
the gittin' up of the subscription and the sailin' of the wessel.
Brother Matthias is a grand writer, and he tells all about Injy and the
heathen, and how the wessel reached the main place there--what's the
place, Mary?--you're allus good on geography!"
"Calcutta," prompted Mary.
"Yes, I mind now--Calcutty. Well, from there Brother Matthias went up
into the country called--I can't just mind the exact name--oh, here it
is--B-a-l-l-e-r-r-a-d Ballerrad--e-r-a-d--Ballerraderad."
Luther paused and sighed. "Them names--them names!" he exclaimed.
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