, who was so very fond of food that
he sometimes stole the cat's milk!

In the house at this time was another boy named Impie. Poor Impie! He
was deformed and could not use his legs, and the natives had some queer
notion about it. He lay all day, so patient, with a smile for everybody;
and when, in the evening, Ma Wright took him on her knee until bedtime,
his face was a picture of perfect content. He died soon afterwards.

All the children were astir before six in the morning. Annie made up the
wood fire and boiled water in the kettle for Ma's tea, and Janie or Mary
prepared it and brought it in. Then they swept up the yard, and went
into the bush to gather firewood or look for herbs to make _efere_ or
native soup. At prayers the children squatted on the verandah. They sang
a hymn in English, and the bigger ones read verse about, Ma explaining
as they went along--for she never hurried through worship no matter how
busy she might be. Then she prayed in Efik, and all repeated the Lord's
Prayer in English.

Prayers were not always at the same time, and sometimes when everybody
was out of doors sweeping up or cutting down bush, Ma summoned them to
the shade of a palm or cotton or orange tree, and had them there just to
teach them that people could worship God anywhere--at their work, as
well as in church.

"Boys and girls," she used to tell her young friends in Scotland,
"should pray at their play or lessons as well as when reading or saying
their prayers night and morning. Make a habit of it by looking up and
saying a word or two in thought at any time. God is interested in our
play and work and everything."

Then came lessons for a couple of hours, Ma doctoring patients or
holding palavers the while. After breakfast the big lads or children
from the village came, and school was held out in the open air under the
verandah. This went on until six o'clock, when the evening meal was
taken.

Prayers were again held on the verandah, and as the refugees in the yard
and many of the neighbours came and sat below, the native tongue only
was used. There was a hymn, and Ma would tell a simple gospel story, and
all would say: "This night I lay me down to sleep." By that time one or
two of the little ones were already in slumber-land, and were carried
off to bed.

On Sunday nights the hymns that children all over the world know were
sung, sometimes with choruses which Ma made up herself; and instead of
reading, the girls told