that he would try. He was in this unfamiliar place, in almost complete darkness, so he had to grope his way to what he thought would be a good spot to urinate. He had just opened his robe and raised his foot to step of the other side of the bench, when Baba clapped. He rearranged his robe as quickly as he could and went to Baba, who inquired why he was late, and instructed him to sit down and not to move. Later, Baba asked the time, and gave Gustadji permission to go. When Gustadji got outside and started again to relieve his discomfort, the sky was clear and Gustadji was amazed to find that just beyond the place where he had raised his foot, was a big lake into which he would have fallen if Baba had not clapped—and, Gustadji being on silence, he could not have called for assistance and would probably have drowned.

Baba then led us through the garden, which was lovely, and gave every evidence of being well-cared-for, to the house where the ladies' quarters were. Rano and Goher met us in the garden, and explained that the house had originally been a rest-house for engineers who were working on the reservoir. The house provided a complete contrast to the men's quarters. They had been primitive; these, for India, were comfortably furnished. We were shown first to the room occupied by Mehera and Mani, neither of whom were present. Rano explained that Mehera and the other girls were mainly responsible for the well-kept garden. Here we were shown pictures of Manzil-e-Meem; a chart of the Hierarchy of the Saints; Babawadi, or the school that Baba had for orphans years ago, where they were educated and fed. Then Baba produced several albums of photographs of Himself, which, since there was not time for us to go through them thoroughly at Pimpalgaon, He entrusted to Lud, for us to view at Meherabad at our leisure. He also entrusted to Lud some small boxes in which locks of Baba's hair were kept. These had been cut when He was thirty years old, and were reddish gold in colour. People now make lockets and brooches with Baba's hair.

Baba then led the way to the upper floor, and as we passed through the hall, we noticed a beautiful painting of a winged white horse by Marguerite Poley, of California.

We were first taken to Baba's own room, which opens out on the verandah. It was a large simple room, with a wooden bed, where Baba sometimes sleeps. The other rooms were shown to us in turn.