gave her no rest. No earthly voice had since reminded her that her heart
was sinful, and needed to be "washed in the blood of the lamb, that
taketh away the sins of the world," in order to be clean. The seed which
had been sown in it when she was a little child, had just sprung up; the
snows of eighty winters had not chilled it, the mildew of nearly a
century had not blighted it, and the heavy hand of hundreds of calamities
had left it unharmed. She had not been in the midst of corruptions,
therefore it had not been destroyed. The little germ was still alive, and
proving that it had not been in vain.

The aged woman sat pillowed up in bed with her children, and children's
children of three generations around her, and lifting her withered hands
and sunken eyes to Heaven, once more repeated, "Our Father, who art in
Heaven," while a new light, like a halo, overspread her face, the tears
flowed in floods down her cheeks, and in the dark eyes of every listener
there glistened tears of sympathy in her new found happiness.

When she was asked if she regretted that she had not consented to be
exchanged, she still said, "No. I love the Indians; I love them better
than the white people. Because they had been kind to me, and provided
generously for my youth and old age, and my children would inherit an
abundance from the avails of the lands, and herds, and flocks."

A few days after the new light dawned upon her spirit, in the year 1833,
Mary was numbered with the dead. She had embraced the faith which makes
no difference between those who come at the first or the eleventh hour,
and those who were present at the dissolution of her soul and body,
doubted not that Jesus had whispered to her the same consolation that
fell upon the heart of the thief upon the Cross, "This day shall thou be
with me in Paradise"