n the forest, for the people had not got over their terror
of the slave-hunters. Except on market-days the road was very silent,
and you met no children on it, for they were afraid of being seized and
made slaves. Leopards and wild cats roamed over it at night.

At one part a number of rough concrete steps led to the top of the steep
bank, from which a narrow path wound up the hillside and ended in a
clearing in the bush. Here stood Ma's queer patchwork mud-house, just a
shapeless huddle of odd rooms, with a closed-in verandah, the whole
covered with sheets of trade-iron, tin from mission-boxes, and lead from
tea-chests. It was hard to find the door, the steps of which were of
unhewn stones.

She began to work harder than ever. What a wonder she was! She did all
the tiresome Court business, sometimes sitting eight hours patiently
listening to the evidence; she held palavers with chiefs; she went long
journeys on foot into the wilderness, going where no white man went. On
Sundays she visited and preached at ten or twelve villages, and between
times she was toiling about the house, making and mending, nailing up
roofs, sawing boards, cutting bush, mudding walls, laying cement. Was it
surprising that her hands were rough and hard, and often sore and
bleeding?

She was seldom well, and always tired, so tired that at night she was
not able to take off her clothes, and lay down with them on until she
slept a little and was rested, and then she rose and undressed. At times
she was on the point of fainting from pain, and only got relief from
sleeping-draughts. It was true of her what one of the missionaries said:
"God does most of His work here by bodies half-dead, but alive in
Christ."

She had now, however, hosts of friends, all willing to look after her.
Nearly every one, officials, missionaries, traders, and natives, were
kind to her. Sir Walter Egerton, the British Governor, and Lady Egerton
would send her cases of milk for the children, and the officials pressed
upon her the use of their steamers and motor-cars and messengers and
workmen. At Ikotobong was Miss Peacock, that girl with the great
thoughtful eyes who had listened so eagerly to Ma when she had addressed
the class in Falkirk years before. She became one of the many white
daughters who hovered about her in the last years and ministered to her.
Two missionary homes were open to her in Calabar, those of Mr. and Mrs.
Wilkie and Mr. and Mrs. Macgregor, and there