and, holding on behind the carriage, was groping my way along, more dead
than alive, when I heard a voice cry out, "Why, howdy, Professor, how
ever came you here?" Glad was I to hear a friendly voice. It was that of
a young girl who had been, some months before, a visitor at the
University, and to whom I had given a little book and spoken some
friendly words. My bread came back to me--a whole loaf for a crumb. All
day long, she and her mother, who left her wash tub to attend to me,
worked over my miserable head. A mile and more she ran in the burning
sun for ice, and no herb that grew on "Petit Anse" from which a
decoction could be made, was left untried, until ice, herbs, and a tough
constitution prevailed, and I was able to ride home. I offered pay, but
it was almost indignantly refused. I wish space would allow me to tell a
hundred stories to illustrate their kind-heartedness, not only to each
other, but to strangers, and even to their old masters and mistresses.

Their Christian faith is something wonderful. It has been my blessed
privilege to be at the bedside of several young people as the death
angel hovered near, and nowhere did I ever feel so near the pearly
gates. Such pure faith and perfect confidence, such perfect resignation,
one could almost hear the rustle of the wings as Azrael bent down to
take the sweet spirit home.

They have gained much in stability of character. Frivolity and silly
nonsense are not the rule. Our boys and girls who go out to teach, carry
a load of responsibility with them. Some of the parishes have been
almost entirely transformed by their work. Three of our boys last summer
built the school houses in which they taught, the people contributing
time, lumber and money, and they are the _only_ school houses in the
State, outside of the large towns, that were built for, or are fit for,
the purpose. Two of them have halls above for meetings, are fitted up