ool on Mission
Hill. She remembered how she had played when she was a little girl that she
was teaching the children of Calabar. Now she was really doing it. She
loved the little black children. After school she would take long walks
with them into the bush. There they saw beautiful birds of many bright
colors, and beautiful flowers of all kinds.

Mary ran races with the black children. How they loved that! She climbed
trees as fast as any boy. The black children loved their white ma who
taught them and played with them. But playing with the children often made
Mary late for meals.

"Mary, Mary," scolded Mammy Anderson gently, "you are late again. I am
going to punish you. You go to your room. Since supper is over, you'll just
have to go to bed without it."

Mary went to her room. In a little while she heard a knock at her door.

"It's Daddy, Mary," said a deep voice. "Please open your door."

Mary opened the door. There stood Daddy Anderson with his hands full of
biscuits and bananas which he was bringing to her with Mammy's consent.

"I thought you might be hungry," said Daddy Anderson.

"You and Mammy are perfect dears," said Mary. "I don't deserve all your
kindness." Mary soon began to visit the different yards or compounds in
Duke Town. Missionaries had been here for thirty years, but there weren't
many of them. They worked chiefly in Duke Town, Old Town, and Creek
Town--three towns at the mouth of the Calabar River. They also had opened a
station at Ikunetu and Ikorofiong on the Cross River. One day Mary was at
one of the stations with another missionary. When he finished his talk, he
said, "Mary, won't you speak to these people?"

Mary stood up. "Please read John 3:1-21," she said. The missionary
did. Then Mary told the people how they could be born again. She told them
of the joy that they would have if they took Jesus into their hearts. She
told them of the hope of life after death with God in Heaven. The natives
listened. They liked her talk. After that whenever she came to that
district, crowds would come to hear her speak.

"Mammy," said Mary, after she had come from a trip to the outstations, "it
hurts my heart to see how cruel these people are. And those awful, ugly,
cruel gods they pray to. The chiefs are so cruel and mean and have no
mercy. And then that terrible secret society, the Egbo. I saw some of their
runners dressed in fearful costumes scaring the people and whipping them
with l