then the
admission of four new members, and the baptism of two children. Probably
four-fifths of the congregation had been drawn thither merely from
curiosity, and on the faces of many of these were the traces of
yesterday's paint. The simple service, which the new communion set made
perfect, could not fail to impress them that there is something better
than they have known. At its close, Edwin Phelps's scholars stood and
sang "Whiter than Snow," in Dakota. Have not those girls gained a great
moral victory, when in native dress, with their shawls worn after the
native fashion, they stand up among their own people and proclaim
themselves on the side of right? It was a day full of new experiences
and new impressions for me. The contrast between this scene and the one
of the day before, presented itself to me over and over again.

DAKOTA WIND.

The next morning we started out for the return to Oahe. The day was warm
and pleasant and uneventful. I was comfortable and happy, and as we
stopped for lunch when we got hungry, I began to wonder where the
hardships of my journey were coming in, but people who are never so
happy as when they are uncomfortable, _ought_ to get their just deserts.
I got mine. After we started from James Brown's, the wind rose. It rose
and it rose. It kept rising. How that wind did blow! It blew us up hill
and threw us down hill. It fairly hurled us along. It blew Mr. Riggs's
hat off and we chased it for half a mile. It blew my hat off; it blew my
hair down; we put into a ravine for repairs. We went through long
stretches of burned prairie, and clouds of fire-black dust were flying.
We hoped when we got down into the ravine it would not be so bad. Vain
hope. It was worse. The dust was blacker and thicker and more dusty. The
gravel stung our faces and blinded our eyes. For the entire distance of
thirty-five miles, that wind howled and raved and tore. It almost took
the ponies off their feet. I have not exaggerated it one bit. It would
be impossible to exaggerate. When we reached the house where we had
taken dinner going up, we found the dirt blown from the roof, likewise
the tar-paper, leaving great cracks through which the dirt rattled.
Everything was an inch deep in dirt, but we were welcomed to the shelter
of the four walls, and what was left of the roof. The dirt did not
matter. We were already done in charcoal. Mr. Collins was here, caught
by the wind, and before dark the Agency farmer came. It wa