arful battles with spears and arrows. She saw villages where
trembling prisoners dipped their hands in boiling oil to test their guilt;
where wives were killed to go with their dead chief into the
spiritland. But these things did not frighten the Scottish girl who was
afraid to cross a field if a cow was in it. She longed to go to Africa.

"Why don't I become a missionary?" Mary asked herself as she worked the
looms in the factory. "Can I leave my home? Does Mother still need my help?
Susan and Janie are working now. They could get along without me. But will
I be brave enough? There are tropical jungles, and black men who eat
people. There are wild animals, sicknesses, and death. God can make me
brave to face all of these things."

Mary prayed, "O God, if it is Your will, let me go as a missionary to
Calabar. Let me be a teacher to teach these black people the story of
salvation. You have commanded us, Your disciples, to carry the Gospel to
the farthest parts of the earth. Use me, O Lord, to help carry it to
Calabar. Hear me, for the sake of Jesus, my Saviour."

It was 1874. The news flashed around the world: "Livingstone is dead." The
great missionary had died on his knees in Africa. Everywhere people were
talking of this great man who had given his life to tell the people of
Africa about the Saviour. Mary made up her mind! She must go to Calabar!
But what would her mother say? And if her mother agreed, would her church
send her out to that field? Mary went to her mother.

"I want to offer myself as a missionary," said Mary Slessor to her
mother. "Are you willing?"

"My child, I'll willingly let you go. You'll make a fine missionary, and
I'm sure God will be with you."

"Thank you, Mother," said twenty-six-year-old Mary. "I know God will be
with me and will make me strong and brave to serve Him."

Mother Slessor was very happy. There was going to be a missionary in the
family after all. But there were some people who did not agree with Mother
Slessor. They shook their heads in doubt. Others thought Mary was very
foolish to risk her life in that way.

"You're doing real well at the factory," said one of them. "And you're
doing missionary work right down there at the mission. Why rush away to
those people way off in Africa? Seems to me missionary work ought to begin
at home."

"Yes," said Mary, "it should begin there, but not end there. There are some
who cannot go to Africa. They can do the work at home. If