f making clothes and healing the sick. So many were ill
that a canoe had to be sent to the nearest Mission House for another
supply of medicines.

One day the chief said to her, "Ma, two of my wives have been doing
wrong, and they are to get one hundred stripes each on their bare backs.
It is the custom."

She was horrified. "Why, what have they done?"

"They went into a yard that is not their own. Of course," he added,
"they are young and thoughtless, they are only sixteen years old, but
they must learn."

"Oh, but that is a very cruel punishment for young girls."

"Ma, it is nothing; we shall also rub salt into the wounds and perhaps
cut off their ears. That is the only way to make the women obey us."

"No, no, you must not do that," cried Ma. "Bring all the people together
for a palaver."

The crowd gathered, and the two girls stood in front with sullen faces.
Ma spoke to them.

"You have done wrong according to your law, and you will have to be
punished."

At this, smiles broke over the faces of the men; but Ma turned to them
swiftly and cried, "You are in the wrong too. Shame on you for making a
law that marries girls so early! Why, these are still children who love
fun and mischief. Their fault is a small one, and you must not punish
them so cruelly."

The smiles fled, and the faces grew angry and defiant, and there were
mutterings and threats.

"Who are you to come and spoil our laws," said some of the big men; "the
girls are ours, let us have them."

But Ma was firm, and as she was the guest of the village, and worthy of
honour, they at length agreed to give a lighter punishment. The girls
were handed over to two strong fellows, who flogged them with a whip. Ma
heard their screams amidst the shouts and laughter of those who looked
on, and was ready to attend to their bleeding bodies when they ran into
her room. Then she gave them something which made them sleep and forget
their pain and misery.

"What can you expect?" said she to herself; "they have never heard of
God, they worship human skulls, and they don't know about love and
compassion and mercy"--and she did her best to teach them.

In the quiet nights, when their work in the fields was over, they came
and squatted on the ground, the big men in front, the slaves outside,
and she stood beside a little table on which were a Bible and hymn-book
and a lamp, and in her sweet and earnest voice told them the story of
the gentle Jesus. She could