ly of seven had now
passed away, and Ma was alone in the world. She never quite got over her
grief and her longing for them all, and to the end of her life was
dreaming a sweet dream of the time when she would meet them again in
heaven.

With no home-hearts to love she began to lavish her affection on the
black children, and was specially fond of Janie, who trotted at her side
all day and slept in her bed at night. She was a lively thing, full of
fun and tricks, and it was curious that the people should be so afraid
of her. They would not touch her even if Ma was there.

One day a man came to the Mission House who said he was her father.

"Then," said Ma, "you will come and see her."

"Oh, no," he replied, with fear in his eyes, "I could not."

Ma looked at him with scorn. "What harm can a wee girlie do you?" she
asked. "Come along."

"Well, I'll look from a distance."

"Hoots," she cried, and seizing him by the arm dragged him close to the
child, who was alarmed and clung to Ma.

"My lassie, this is your father, give him a hug."

The child put her arms round the man's neck and he did not mind, and
indeed his fierce face grew soft, and he sat down and took her gently on
his knee and petted her, and was so delighted with her pretty ways that
he would hardly give her up. After that he came often and brought her
gifts of food. Thus Ma tried to show the people that there was nothing
wrong with twins, and that it was a cruel and senseless thing to kill
them.

There were other children, both boys and girls, in the home, whom Ma had
saved from sickness or death, and these she trained to do housework and
bake and go to market, and when their work was done she taught them from
their Efik lesson books, and by and by they were able to help her in
school and church by looking after all the little things that needed to
be done. The oldest was a girl of thirteen, a kind of Cinderella, who
was always in the kitchen, but who was very honest and truthful and
loved her Ma.

Besides these there were always a number of refugees in the yard-rooms
outside, a woman, perhaps, who had been ill-used by her masters and had
run away, or girls broken in body and mind, who had been brought down
from the country to be sold as slaves and whom Ma had rescued, or sick
people who came from far distances to get the white woman's medicine to
be healed.

It was a busy life which Ma lived in and out amongst the huts and
villages of the Creek;