Mrs. Cole is a Christian lady of great integrity; she is indeed a help-mate to her husband. She is a hard worker, and is going from morning until late at night. A look at the mission house would convince any one that a woman's gentle hand played a daily part in the arrangement of everything around. The floors are kept perfectly clean. The bedding is thoroughly aired every day.
Little tidies and what-nots are so skillfully arranged that one almost forgets that he is in a heathen land. Indeed, everything is inviting, and when her husband returns after a walk or boat-ride through the hot tropical sun from his labors among the heathen he finds his wife waiting and everything in readiness to make him happy and to give the rest so necessary in that climate. Often, too, she accompanies him and leads the singing before and after preaching. Mrs. Cole has her school of sixteen children to teach. They love her as if they were her own children. None of them want to leave her, and when the parents of the children come for them to take them home they cry and beg to stay with "daddy and mamee," as they call Rev. Cole and Mrs. Cole. When these children are brought to the mission they come without any clothes. Not even a rag or string around the waist. Of course it would be out of the question for them to be naked. What is to be done? There is no appropriation for this school, and the little money sent by the few friends cannot go far. The question is answered in the reality of the case, that these children are all neatly dressed and well fed. How is it done? The parents of the children do not give a single penny's worth to dress them, nor as much as a grain of rice to feed them. Indeed, it is a general thing that these children must be ransomed from slavery or a price paid to the parents to get them in school. How is it done? It is done by self-denial and industry by Rev. and Mrs. Cole. All the clothing is made by Mrs. Cole with the needle and thread. She has no sewing machine.
It is wonderful how fast she can make the needle fly, even when her mind is not on her sewing. Would you look on the picture? Look! far over the lake you see yonder cloud as black as midnight; it is the sign of a hurricane. When it comes it will be furious. The waters of the lake dash like a heavy sea. A little boat five miles away is battling with the waves; you do not know who are in the boat, but if your eye was as well practiced as another's eye who is watching, you would see that they are Rev. Cole and three or four native Africans. They are pulling at the oars with all their might, lest the storm overtake
