crowd of converts came down to the shore to bid them farewell. As
the boat shoved off the friends on the beach started a hymn. The rowers
and the missionaries caught it up and the two groups joined, the
sound of each growing fainter and fainter to the other as the distance
widened.

All lands to God in joyful sounds Aloft your voices raise, Sing forth
the honor of his name, And glorious make his praise!

And the land and the sea, answering each other, joined in praise to him
who was the Maker of both.

And so the rowers pulled away in time to the swing of the Psalm, the
boat rounded a point, and the beloved figure of Kai Bok-su disappeared
from sight.

Away down the coast the oarsmen pulled, and the four missionaries
squeezed themselves into as small a space as possible to be out of the
way of the oars. All the evening they rowed steadily, and as they still
swept along night came down suddenly. They kept close to the shore,
where to their right arose great mountains straight up from the water's
edge. They were covered with forest, and here and there in the blackness
fires twinkled.

"Head-hunters!" said the helmsman, pointing toward them.

Away to the left stretched the Pacific. Ocean, and above shone the stars
in the deep blue dome. It was a still, hot tropical night. From the land
came the heavy scent of flowers. The only sound that broke the stillness
was the regular thud, thud of the oars or the cry of some wild animal
floating out from the jungle. As they passed on through the warm
darkness, the sea took on that wonderful fiery glow that so often
burns on the oceans of the tropics. Every wave became a blaze of
phosphorescence. Every ripple from the oars ran away in many-colored
flames--red, green, blue, and orange. Kai Bok-su, sitting amazed at the
glory to which the Pe-po-hoan boatmen had become accustomed, was silent
with awe. He had seen the phosphorescent lights often before, but never
anything like this. He put his hand down into the molten sea and scooped
up handfuls of what seemed drops of liquid fire. And as his fingers
dipped into the water they shone like rods of red-hot iron. Over the
gleaming iridescent surface, sparks of fire darted like lightning, and
from the little boat's sides flashed out flames of gold and rose and
amber. It was grand. And no wonder they all joined--Chinese, Malayan,
and Canadian--in making the dark cliffs and the gleaming sea echo to the
strains of praise to the One who ha