, and many others; after hearing them discuss living
topics--living topics to them because they belong to the change from
heathen to Christian life; after hearing them pray--though I could not
understand a word, yet from their earnestness I could understand the
spirit of their prayer; after all this, I could scarcely believe that
these men had ever been Indians in paint, feathers, dances and on the
war path. Thus I spent my first four days among Indians. And even if
preaching, prayers, discussions were in an unknown tongue, I perhaps,
understood as much as I would at many a Presbytery or Conference
meeting. And I got as much good from the Dakota sermon as I have from
many an English sermon.

Not the least pleasing of my new impressions were those made by the
missionaries present. Rev. John P. Williamson, of Yankton Agency; Rev.
A.L. Riggs, D.D., of Santee Mission and Normal School; Rev. T.L. Riggs
of Oahe, or rather the apostle to the Tetons, were the life of the
meetings whether in English or Dakota. They came from and returned to
the work to which their lives are given. I did not meet these men with
the greetings of a certain minister there, who asked, "How many years
have you been in the Indian work." "About twenty," was the reply. Then
the minister said: "Well, you have been in the work so long that you
would not be much good anywhere else." My impression was that such men
would be now, as they always have been, successful in any field of
labor. But I must leave Flandreau with its citizen Indians, ready to
vote for prohibition in the Constitution of South Dakota, for this is
not our field of labor.

The next scene is one which I shall long remember--our reception at a
mission home. Other homes may be happy and other people may welcome me
to their homes; but few--none that I have met--can welcome one so
cordially as Mrs. Riggs welcomed us to her home at Oahe. This is a
long-to-be-remembered experience. And after spending a week at Oahe,
meeting the teachers and pupils of the school, and the citizen Indians
there we started for our own home and work, Park Street Church Station.
This place has been the home of my husband for a year.

Crossing the Missouri is one of the first of our experiences. The team
and wagon are loaded on the boat, the men row a few rods, then the boat
stops. "Bar," remarks Mr. Cross, "got to tow;" when, horrors! "Is this a
missionary I see?" Mr. Cross is in the water, sometimes to his knees,
s