eith involuntarily shuddered as he looked upon the pitiable object
before him. This, then, was the man of whom he had heard so much. How
often he had listened as the Tukudhs related tales of his fierce
jealousy, insane rage, and inhuman cruelty, when thwarted by friend or
foe. In days gone by he had heard men dilate in glowing terms of the
free, beautiful life of the Indians in their wild, uncivilized
condition. They had pictured them roaming the woods and mountains,
skimming along grassy lakes or gliding down the rapid streams. But of
the sterner, sadder side they knew nothing, and how he longed to show
those very men the difference between Klassan, where the light of
Christ had come, and this wretched Quelchie village in heathen darkness.

"Oh, Lord," he prayed, "help me, give me power to say the right word
and to bring the Spirit into these miserable lives."

Advancing to the old chief, he bowed low, and detecting a faint sign of
pleasure upon the dusky face, he felt somewhat encouraged.

"Great Quelchie chief," he began, "I am a stranger in your midst. I
have come a long way over a hard trail to bear to you a message from my
own Chief, whom I have served from a child. May I speak?"

"The pale-face is welcome," came the reply. "The chief of the
Quelchies will listen."

The missionary's heart thrilled with joy at this opportunity to say a
word for his Master. He told about the Great Father in heaven, who so
loved the world that He sent His only Son to live among men and to die
on the cross that all might be saved. He described the cruel lives of
the Tukudhs in times past, and what a change had taken place since they
became Christians; of their church, school, books they had, the hymns
they sang, and the happier lives they led. For a long time he spoke,
the Indians listening with rapt attention. He forgot his hunger and
weariness and the danger of his position as he pictured the glories of
the Christ-life. He glowed with enthusiasm. His words burned with
fire as he simply told

"The old, old story
Of unseen things above,
Of Jesus and His glory,
Of Jesus and His love."

Then he sang for them a hymn, one loved by his own flock at Klassan.
It was a translation of "Jesus, Lover of My Soul," and he sang it with
a full, rich voice and an intensity of expression.

All this time the stalwart Indian had stood quietly by the chief's side
with his gaze fixed full upon the speaker's face. But no