near the door. When the sound had ceased he would look up the valley, and listen intently for the music of hurrying feet which no longer came as in the past. Only Tom and Kate would come, shuffling along, to take their places near the chancel steps. The missionary would then enter the little vestry, don his robes, and read the service, never forgetting to pray for the absent ones.
One cold night after service the missionary returned to his lonely house. Lighting a candle, he stirred up the fire in the sheet-iron heater, and added a couple of sticks. He then sat down at the rough deal table nearby which contained a number of books, several sheets of paper, pen, and ink. His eyes rested upon his translation of the beautiful benediction of St. Paul in his second letter to the Church at Corinth. “Nyiwhet Kekwadhut Jesus Kreist vit chekoorzi ako Vittekwich-anchyo chettigwinidhun, ako Chunkyo Rsotitinyoo nichya sheg Myiwhot tutthug zyunkoli. Amen.” Carefully he compared this with the English, “The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, and the love of God, and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit, be with you all. Amen.” For some time he sat there pondering over these words. He had no doubt about their truth, but somehow it did seem as if they were not applicable to him and his scattered flock. Grace had been strangely withheld of late, love had grown cold, and the bond of fellowship broken. The enemies of righteousness had triumphed, and truth had been trampled under foot. He and his two faithful Indians were alone left to uphold the standard of the Lord in that desolate wilderness. Was it really any use for him to strive longer? Perhaps it might be better for him to go elsewhere.
