Can the Gospel of Christ lift such as these, with a thousand
generations of savagery back of them?

Let another picture answer.

* * * * *

Almost half a mile from the Medicine Lodge camp, on a rise of ground,
stands a little Christian church--plain but beautiful. From it seem
to flow visibly those purifying and redeeming forces that are destined
to transform the darkened lives of these Indian children of the great
All-father.

It is prayer-meeting night. The bell is rung and the audience begins
to gather. A number of alert, intelligent-looking, English-speaking
young men come in together.

One of these, an earnest Christian, will interpret, sentence by
sentence, the Scripture reading and the message of the speaker.

Some older men and women come next, heavy of feature and step. One
is blind and feels his way to his accustomed seat.

Old women come wrapped in blankets, their faces seamed with toil
and showing the hardness of heathen customs, when sickness and death,
unrelieved by faith, wear the heart and waste the body.

Mothers come with bright-eyed babies tucked in their blankets, or
leading children of various sizes--also some young women, beautiful