go to the neighbourhood of the
hostile town, if I would bring its principal men to meet him at an
appointed place. So we went. This chosen place was a fine plot of
ground enclosed by magnificent chestnut trees. I went on to the town,
with a few unarmed men. The people received us well; but it was
difficult to make the old heathen, brought up on treachery and
falsehood, believe that I was to be trusted. But in the end the chief
and twenty of his men consented to go with us, and left their arms at
home. They did it with forebodings, for I overheard an old man say, as
we set out from the place,--'We shall see death to-day.' I lifted my
voice and cried, 'To-day we live!' They took up the words, and heart at
the same time, and repeated, 'To-day we live'--to encourage themselves,
I suppose, as we went towards the chestnut-tree meeting ground.

"I felt that the peace of the whole region depended on what was to be
done there, and for my part went praying that all might go well. It was
an anxious moment when we entered the open place; any ill-looks in
either party would chase away trust front the other. As we went in I
watched the chief who accompanied me. He gently bowed to Tui Mbua and
approached him with due and evidently honest respect. My heart leaped
at that moment. Tui Mbua looked at him keenly, sprang to his feet, and
casting his arms about his enemy's neck gave him a warm embrace. The
people around shouted for joy; I was still, I believe, for the very
depth of mine. One of the Christian chiefs spoke out and cried, 'We
thank thee, O Lord, for thus bringing thy creatures into the way of
life;' and he wept aloud for very gladness.

"After that we had speechifying; and I returned home very full of
thankful joy."

This was the last letter read. Mr. Morrison folded up his packet amid a
great silence. Mrs. Caxton seemed thoughtful; Eleanor was motionless.

"He is doing good work," remarked Mr. Morrison; "but it is hard work.
He is the right sort of man to go there--fears nothing, shirks nothing.
So are they all, I believe; but almost all the rest of them have their
wives with them. How came Rhys to go alone?"

"He does not write as if he felt lonely," said Mrs. Caxton.

"It is better for a man to take a wife, though," said Mr. Morrison. "He
wants so much of comfort and home as that. They get tired, and they get
sick, and to have no woman's hand about is something to be missed at
such times. O we are all dependent. Mr. R