* * * * *

ONE MISSIONARY DAY.

MISS S.E.  OBER, EVARTS, KY.

At work again.  Back from the rest and change of the summer vacation.  Leaving behind friends and home, comforts and pleasures, and nearly all the advantages of civilization.  But coming to a greater joy, a higher privilege than any of these can afford—­the “high calling” of our Master, to minister to poor, needy souls in His name.

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 lives, that He had been with them in their sufferings.

A year ago, when we visited this hut, we found them stolid and indifferent, caring nothing for spiritual things.  The woman sat smoking over the fire, scarcely vouchsafing us a word, and muttered to a crony, “Wot’s thet thar woman nosing ’bout yere for?  She’d er heap sight better let we uns erlone.”

It was very hard to ask permission to hold prayers with them in such a hostile atmosphere, but it is our duty to “sow beside all waters,” so we proffered our request.

“Yer kin ef yer mines ter.  I haint er carin’,” was the ungracious reply.

But what a change now.  The woman’s face glows with a light that only comes from the “light of the world.”  “God’s been mighty good ter we uns,” she says.  “Ef hit hedn’t ben fer Him we’d er died.  An’ we uns air bound ter do ez near right ez we kin, an’ serve ther Lord, ther hull lot on us.”