"Do they come to attend worship in it?"

"The chapel is a great attraction. Strangers come to see--if not to
worship,--and then we get a chance to tell the truth to them."

"And Mr. Rhys, how is the truth prospering generally?"

"Eleanor, we want men!--and that seems to be all we want. My heart
feels ready to break sometimes, for the want of helpers. I am glad of
brother Amos coming--very glad!--but we want a hundred where we have
one. It is but a few weeks since a young man came over from one of the
islands, a large and important island, bringing tidings that a number
of towns there had given up heathenism--all wanting teachers--and there
were no teachers for them. In one place the people had built a chapel;
they had gone so far as that; it was at Koroivonu--and they gathered
together the next Sunday after it was finished, great numbers of the
people, filled the chapel and stood under some bread-fruit trees in
front of it, and stood there waiting to have some one come and tell
them the truth--and there was no one. My heart is ready to weep blood
when I think of these things! The Tongan who came with the news came
with his eyes full of tears. And this is no strange nor solitary case
of Koroivonu."

Mr. Rhys walked the floor of the little chapel, his features working,
his breast heaving. Eleanor sat thinking how little she could do--how
much she would!

"You have native helpers--?" she said gently.

"Praise the Lord for what they are! but we want missionaries. We want
help from England. We cannot get it from the Colonies--not fast enough.
Eleanor,"--and he stopped short and faced her--"a few months ago, to
give you another instance, I was beholder of such a scene as this. I
was to preach to a community that were for the first time publicly
renouncing heathenism. It was Sunday."--Mr. Rhys spoke slowly,
evidently exercising some control over himself; how often Eleanor had
seen him do that in the pulpit!--

"I stood on the shores of a bay, reefed in from the ocean. I wish I
could put the scene before you! On the land side, one of the most
magnificent landscapes stretched back into the country, with almost
every sort of natural beauty. Before me the bay, with ten large canoes
moored in it. An island in the bay, I remember, caught the light
beautifully; and beyond that there was the white fence of breakers on
the reef barrier. The smallest of the canoes would hold a hundred men;
they were the fleet of Thakomban, on