For some weeks, I. grooms the horse, exercises it, feeds it. It becomes a whole day's occupation, for the horse needs much water for sponging, drinking, and cooling off the stable and the water has to be brought by the pails full from some distance away. By nightfall, I. is completely tired out, but happy. Baba shares her interest in the horse and visits the stable each morning with his coat pockets bulging with carrots.

Then, one day, the horse gets lame or sick. It does not yield to treatment, so Baba sends it down the hill again to be cared for by Padri who originally cared for it. So ends the episode of the horse and faith tells me Baba's work was done to his complete satisfaction.

But please don't run away with the idea that, if you joined any future Ashram and had a deep-down longing to have a helicopter, Baba would have a hangar built for you. Baba's ways are unpredictable. He would be just as likely to stop your reading, writing and walking and say, "You have with you, day by day, the greatest book on earth to read and digest. What else do you need?"

Baba has always wanted us to feel that love is something cheerful and bright, not heavy and dull. There was a time to be gay and a time to be serious, both were aspects of the same Divine Spirit. And he would tell us about Krishna, how full of joy and fun he was, ever happy, and still no one talked of love more than He and how love is action in its highest. Only in the Gita do you find Krishna is serious. Another time, Baba would tell us of the joy, the charm and the devotion of the saints for God.

So, we too, must try to be gay, not look moody and bored. And Baba, calling the group together, would tell us what a tiring day he had had with the God-mad or the men Mandali, thus preparing us ahead to feel sympathetic and begin, "I want to relax. I want to laugh. You," pointing to one of the group, "sing me a song." To another, "Tell me a story, a funny joke." If this brought no response, "Tell me something amusing about your school days, act something, dance . . . ”

There we sat glued to our seats, frustrated, getting redder and hotter. Says one, "I have never sung."

Another, "I have never danced. I am no good at storytelling. I remember no jokes."

Baba goes on hammering, "What, you tell me you love me and want to