After luncheon we were shown the village proper—which boasts a court, jail and hospital. Most astonishing of all in this progressive community, they have now a jitney service of Ford cars between Kunjangoon and Twante, twenty-six miles distant. One cannot imagine what this must mean to the villagers, who have had heretofore bullock carts as their only means of transportation.

Then we made our farewells and left, with regret, for the long trip home. It had been made possible to remain this long only by the generous loan of a private steam launch by one of the Bahá’ís of Rangoon, as the last ferry left Twante long before our arrival there.

Mingled with our joy of this day was an undercurrent of sadness which came as we talked to Siyyid Mustafa on the homeward trip. To quote his words as nearly as possible will give the best idea: “I am an old man now and who will carry on my work? Any day I may be called and who will educate these beautiful children? It breaks my heart to come and see them and to be able to do so little—we need teachers and money to help them now. When you leave don't forget my people of Kunjangoon.”

And who having seen Kunjangoon could forget it!