war for you?"

"We shall never see you again."

"You are sure to be murdered."

Such were some of the things said to her. But she just smiled, and
thought how little there was to fear when Jesus was with her.

"I am going," she wrote home, "to a new tribe up-country, a fierce,
cruel people, and every one tells me they will kill me. But I don't fear
any hurt. Only--to combat their savage customs will require courage and
firmness on my part."

The night before she left she could not sleep for thinking and wondering
about all that was before her, and lay listening to the dripping of the
rain until daylight. When she heard the negro carriers coming for the
packages she rose. It was still wet, and the men were miserable and
grumbled and quarrelled amongst themselves until good King Eyo arrived
and took them in hand. Seeing how nervous she was he sat down beside her
and cheered her up, saying that he would send secret messengers from
time to time to find out how she was getting on, and that she was to let
him know if ever she needed help. Her courage and smiles came back, and
she jumped up, gathered her children together, and walked down to the
beach. Amidst the sighs and sobs and farewells of the people she stepped
into the canoe.

"Good-bye, good-bye," she cried to every one, and the canoe sped into
the middle of the stream and was lost in the mist and the rain.

[Illustration: "PLUNGED INTO THE DEPTHS OF THE FOREST."]

It was night when the landing-beach was reached, and the stars were
hidden by rain-clouds. As Ma stepped ashore on the mud-bank and looked
into the dark forest and thought of the long journey before her, and the
end of it, her heart failed. She might lose her way in that unlit tangle
of wood. She would meet wild beasts, the natives might be feasting and
drinking and unwilling to receive her. A score of shadowy terrors arose
in her imagination. For a moment she wished she could turn back to the
safe shelter of her home, but when she thought of Jesus and what He had
done for her sake, how He was never afraid, but went forward calm and
fearless even to His death on the Cross, she felt ashamed of her
weakness, and, calling the children, she plunged stoutly into the black
depths of the forest.

What a queer procession it was! The biggest boy, eleven years old, went
first with a box of bread and tea and sugar on his head, next a laddie
of eight with a kettle and pots, then a wee fellow of three sturdily