he right way; that is the Jesus way."

"Thank you, Ma." And he, too, came and knelt before her, and held her
feet and poured out his gratitude for all she had done.

"Go on, Ma," he said, "and teach us to do away with the bad old bush
fashions. We are weary of them, they bind us like chains, and we need
you to help us."

These words thrilled Ma with happiness, and were a reward for all she
had come through; but they made her humble too, for she knew that unless
God had been with her she would not have borne up so long.

Now that she was surer of herself and of that wondrous Power behind her,
she grew bolder still, and went wherever trouble threatened. No place
was too far for her to reach. Natives in distant parts were often
surprised to see her walking into their midst when they were starting to
fight. Once a secret message came, saying that two tribes, many miles
away, were on the warpath. Ma was ill and weak and in bed, but she rose
at once. Edem said, "Ma, you are going into a wild beast's den, and will
not come out alive."

Night fell as she was tramping along, and she was always nervous of the
darkness and the mystery of the forest. The animals frightened her. "I
prayed," she said, "that God would shut their mouths, and He did." At
midnight she reached a village where she hoped to borrow a drum and a
freeman to beat it before her as she marched, a sign that one under the
protection of Egbo was coming. But the chief, a surly despot, would not
see her, and would not give her the drum.

"If there is a war," his message said, "a woman is not likely to stop
it."

Back went her reply. "You think only of the woman. You have forgotten
the woman's God. I go without a drum."

On she went, and came at last to one of the villages where the trouble
was brewing. All was silent and still. Suddenly, out of the darkness
swarmed armed men and closed around her and demanded her business.

"I have come to stop the war."

They jeered at her, such a small, feeble woman, and smiled grimly.

"You won't do that," they said.

"We shall see. I want to have a palaver and hear the story."

"All right, Ma," they replied, humouring her. "Go to sleep until second
cock-crow and we shall wake you up and take you with us." But when she
was awakened the band were already away on their errand of death.

"Run, Ma, run and stop them!" cried the women, who feared what would
happen; and she rushed breathlessly up and down steep tracks and