So with great happiness we gather up the loose threads and the dropped
stitches of last year's work, and start anew. Come with us through one
day, and taste a few of a missionary's joys. After our household tasks
are over, and we have gained new power from our daily devotions, we
start out on our work. Over one hundred boys and girls give us bright
greetings as we ride past. We must go on horseback, as there are no
_good_ roads in our vicinity.

We are entirely compassed about with mountains; on every side they lift
their grand heads in everlasting testimony of the wonderful handiwork of
the Almighty. But we have little time to gaze upon their beauty, for
more precious creations of the same great Hand are needing our
attention.

See this little hovel, built of rough logs, scarcely serving to keep out
the wind or the rain. Let us enter. A most pitiful sight awaits us. The
fever has been before us. For months it has raged, and two human souls
have been taken from the family which dwells here. On a rude filthy bed
lies the wasted frame of a once stalwart man. He is as feeble as the
infant; a wan child is sitting near by. The mother, in tattered
garments, totters about her work, so enfeebled by the disease that her
strength is inadequate for her tasks. Three of the children are nothing
but skeletons, and sit listlessly on the floor, taking but little
notice of anything going on about them.

The thin faces light up at sight of us, and a cordial welcome is
extended. The only whole chair is brought forward for our use. You might
expect a torrent of complaints from these poor creatures. But no,
instead come words of praise to God that He had spared so many of their