Part 5

Have you any sort of an idea what it is to travel in a bullock bandy? The wagon itself I suppose to be somewhat like what the Western emigrants used, in days gone by. It is supposed to be very comfortable, and sometimes three or four persons occupy one; but how they do it, is a mystery to me, for my two trips have been by myself, and I certainly had no room to spare.

My first experience was in going to visit a sick missionary thirty-eight miles away. It was during the rainy season. I took with me a servant, who spoke English, and if it had not been for that, I don't know what I should have done.

Bullocks were supposed to be posted along the road, but at the first changing place, none could be hired. We went on, four miles, and there succeeded in getting a pair so frisky that I seemed at times in danger of losing my life. How they _did_ behave! One was especially unwilling to be tied. More than once the bandy bumped down with me, and one bullock ran away up the road, leaving the other beside himself with fear. However, we got started at last, but I was afraid of something happening all the time we had those animals.

The river, which in the dry season is simply a great bed of sand, in the rainy season is sometimes so high that bandys cannot cross, except on rafts, and sometimes not at all, because of the very swift current.

On our return trip the river was nearly its full width, and was rushing along with a tremendous sweep. It was not very deep, however, and I decided not to wait the river's pleasure, but to risk crossing it. It took twenty-one men to get us across that river! Pudchi, my servant, piled all my boxes on the board, which, in a bandy, is the bed, and he and I perched ourselves on them, balancing as best we could. One man went ahead to sound the river, two guided the bullocks' heads, two drove, eight took the wheels, five pushed, and the others steadied us; for more than once it seemed as if the current would sweep us over. However, after the first scare, I felt safe, and rather enjoyed my ride. Landed on the other side of the river, the water was emptied out of the bandy, and we went on, for hours, through the palm-tree forests and the banyan-lined avenues. The moonlight was almost dazzling, and the banyan and palm-trees glittered like silver.

Would you like to know the cost of getting over that river? It cost two cents a man! The roads were so muddy that we had occasionally to get help, to push the bandy along. Once, in getting out of a hole, the wheel was thrown over the bank of a tauk; the driver did not dare try going on, with me inside, so I crawled out over the wheel! We were thirteen hours in making the thirty-eight miles. Part of the time I arranged my pillows and tried to be comfortable; but what comfort can you take when, even by bracing yourself, you cannot keep quiet for a moment?

After part of the thirteen hours were spent, I found I was indulging in a headache. I did my head up in a wet towel, and tried to apply "Mentholine" to my forehead; but the jolting of the bandy caused me, when aiming at one temple, to thrust the instrument into the opposite eye. After some experiments I thought it might be safer to make a dive for an eye in the first place, and see where the cone would land, but concluded not to try it.

MY HAND IN HIS.

A LITTLE boy who came before the pastor to be received into the church, was asked how he expected to lead a Christian life, and he sweetly replied, "I will put my hand in Jesus' hand, and I know He will lead me right." This is just the thing, my little ones, for us _all_ to do, and if we did it, we should not so often stumble and fall. We are so apt to try to walk _alone_! But this we cannot do, in this dark world.

I called to see a dear friend lately, and she repeated to me a lovely poem in which these two lines occurred:

I'd rather walk with Him in the dark Than to walk alone in the light.

And I assure you the former is far safer for us than the latter. He never lets us fall, if we hold His hand!

"WHAT SHE COULD."

ALICE MERWYN felt as though she had stepped into a new world that Monday morning when she began her summer's work at Lime Rock. An entire stranger in the neighborhood, expected to teach and manage twenty restless and judging from appearances hitherto unmanageable children, and she only seventeen, she was nearly overwhelmed.

And yet Alice Merwyn was not easily discouraged; she had a certain self-poise which some people called self-conceit, others named self-confidence, but which, name it as you will, grew out of a knowledge of her powers coupled with a strong faith in her Leader.

As the days went by she found she had no easy task. There were two or three disorderly spirits in the school who set at defiance all rules. She was surprised at the utter ignorance which some of her pupils showed of the Bible and religious truth.

She had resolved to open school with devotional exercises, as the trustee had assured her there would be no objection to such a course. None of the children brought their Bibles the first day, but in compliance with her request there was quite a show of Bibles the next morning. One or two said they had none, and these were allowed to "look over" with those who were willing to share their books with them. Alice gave out the chapter which she had selected for their reading, and one little girl looked up in surprise to see them all finding the place, and asked with a puzzled expression:

"Is it alike in all the books?" And then she as well as others had to be shown how to find the chapter. And Alice explained that the Bible was the word of God, and the books they had brought were all copies of the words which God had given to his people. When she asked how many knew the Lord's Prayer, only three raised their hands. And as for the Ten Commandments, the most of the children had never heard of them. And Alice thought, "surely here is work for some one."

During that week she tried to teach them the Lord's Prayer, but as they made slow progress in the few moments which she felt that she had a right to use in that way, she thought of a plan.

"How many of you would like to come here Sunday afternoon and be taught about God and the Bible?"

Almost every hand went up, and the appointment was made and kept, too.

And every Sunday afternoon all through the summer Alice Merwyn spent an hour in the dingy little country schoolhouse surrounded by a group of children who soon came to hang upon her words as well as upon her chair.

"Dear me! I should think you had enough of those children through the week without going there these hot Sunday afternoons!" said May Andrus, the daughter of the lady with whom Alice boarded.

"Well, it seems that they do not have enough of me!" replied Alice, laughing a little.

"But they have no right to your Sundays!" said May.

"I differ with you; I think they have the best right."

"I do not understand; I supposed you were hired to teach five days in the week, only," replied May.

"True, Mr. Pratt engaged me for the school week, but I have another Master, May. And he seems to be saying to me 'do this thing.' The children need me, I think, and that is why I said they have a right to a part of my Sundays."

"O, you are too good to be comfortable! Now if you would give up the scheme and sit in the hammock this afternoon and read, how we would enjoy ourselves!"

"I must not disappoint the children!" and Alice went down the dusty road wishing that May was interested in the matter enough to go with her.

After the lesson of that afternoon they lingered a little in familiar talk. Fred Pratt had been the most unruly of all her pupils, but of late he had changed greatly, and his example was having a marked effect upon the good order of the school. That afternoon Alice said:

"I wonder how many of us hope we are Christians? or how many are trying to be Christians?"

There was a little hesitation, a looking shyly at each other, then three hands went up. And Alice's heart gave a great bound of thanksgiving.

"What makes you think so?" she asked, and Fred spoke first:

"For one thing I think I am not as saucy to you as I used to be, and I know I could not help it, if Jesus did not hold me back from getting mad. O, Miss Merwyn! I have learned a great deal from you. I never knew anything about the Bible before you came! I've read it some, but it never seemed a bit interesting, but now I love it, and I just want to tell people how nice it is. I don't believe everybody knows about it!"

"I am afraid they do not," said Alice, "and, Fred, it is a good thing to want to tell others the good news and perhaps the Lord will want you to do that when you are older. Who knows?"

Then little Annie Andrus spoke.

"I think, teacher, that I am a better girl than I was, because I do not get so vexed at sister May when she pulls my curls mornings; I used to scream sometimes, and now I just set my teeth hard and ask Jesus to help me to keep back the yell! and I haven't quarrelled with Kittie in a week."

Fannie Brown was older than Annie, indeed she was the oldest scholar in school, and as Alice turned towards her, she said softly,

"I am so happy, and the little hymns which you have taught us keep bubbling over all the time. Everything goes right, and I love the Saviour, and am trying all the time to do what He would like to have me do. I don't know as it is being a Christian, but I want to be one, if I am not."

"What makes you so queer to-night?" asked May that evening.

"Queer, am I?" returned Alice.

"Yes, queer and quiet. Your face shines as if you had heard some wonderful news or something."

"I have!" said Alice. "I have heard of that which angels smile over." And then she told May the story of the afternoon, and May replied, more soberly than her wont, "I declare, Alice Merwyn, if there is anything in religion that will subdue such a boy as Fred Pratt has been I shall believe in it! Why, he has been the terror of the neighborhood! And dear little Annie! I shall never twitch her hair again."

May put up her frizzes silently with a quiet look on her face, and at length she turned to Alice and said:

"I believe I'll go to Sunday-school with you after this. I can't have my little sister getting ahead of me."

Do you think Alice Merwyn will ever regret the effort she made to help the children in that out-of-the-way neighborhood to a knowledge of the truths of the Bible?

FAYE HUNTINGTON.

THE ALABASTER BOX.

MY dear little friends, I suppose many of you have read the sweet story in the Bible, about Mary who broke for her Lord and Master the precious box of Alabaster. It was a very costly and rare perfume. I want to tell you, that although Christ is no longer with us here on earth, yet we can still break for him our Alabaster boxes. Do you ask me how? Well, He says that when we serve His dear children, we serve Him, just as much as though He were present with us. And I think every day, perhaps every hour, we can give to Him one of our Alabaster boxes. I do not mean the very ointment that Mary had, but we can speak kind and helpful words, we can encourage the downtrodden, we can carry flowers to the sick, make our homes sunny and cheerful, lend books to the poor, comfort our pastor, and do, oh! so many _little_ things to make others rejoice!

J.

BESSIE'S STORY.

I AM a very little girl, I can't say much, but I know Christ is died and gone to Heaven Many hundred years ago.

And he suffered, here on earth, All his weary long life through, That our sins might be forgiven, And we go to Heaven too.

And I know how he was born, In a hornèd ox's crib; Wasn't that a dreadful place For a little babe to live?

Muvver told me all about it, 'Bout the Shepherd, and the star; And the blessed angels, singing Way up in the sky, so far.

And He came to die for children, Just as much as grown-up men; And if I am good and holy, I shall go to Heaven, then.

I have 'membered it so nicely, That I thought I'd tell you all; And you'd listen, and be ready When you hear the Saviour call. BELLE WALDRON.

WORK FINISHED EARLY.

I HAVE lately been reading a sketch of one who finished her work early and went to rest. To those left behind still toiling in the field it seemed that her work was broken off and left unfinished, but He who called her to the service, and afterwards called her home, knew when to say "it is finished"; nothing can be half-done that is done according to His command.

Of "Nina's" childhood we are told of her "golden hair, fair cheek and graceful form; of her quick, laughing eye, of her sensitive face reflecting every changing thought--her ready answers to all Sabbath-school questions, and her sunshiny presence at school and at home."

"Her scholarship was bright, quick and accurate.

"In social life few shone more brilliantly, or were more admired and sought after.

"Her beauty was of a rare and noticeable type, her conversational powers were fascinating, and she early developed rare powers of mind."

Her beauty, intelligence and social powers were early consecrated to the Master's service. We are told that "when a little child, from eight to twelve years old, she and some of her companions formed a praying circle and had a little room in one of their homes which they called the house of prayer. They met often in this room which they delighted to decorate after their childish fashion."

I can imagine the little girls bringing from the old-fashioned gardens bunches of flowers, snowballs, peonies, honeysuckles and sweet-smelling pinks and roses, or bringing from the woods evergreens and trailing vines to garland this bower where they met to hold sweet childish communion with their Saviour.

"Another favorite occupation was teaching some poor children whom she and her companions gathered for lessons in sewing and reading."

I cannot tell you all the sweet story of this beautiful life, only a bit here and there. When she was eleven years old she was asked by her pastor how long she had loved Jesus, and she replied, "Oh! a great many years."

There was nothing unchildlike in her ways. She is said to have been a peculiarly bright, active and happy child, growing to womanhood the delight of her home and tenderly shielded from rude contact with the world. But this noble woman, "so eminently fitted for usefulness in circles of refinement," was called to spend her life among the degraded Indians of the Northwest. There were those who thought it a great wrong that such a beautiful and accomplished girl upon whose education so much pains and money had been expended, should be given to the Missionary work among the coarse, ignorant Indians. They thought that some one less fit for the adornment of social life could do the work as well. But both she and her parents felt that the best was not too precious to be given to the Lord to be used wherever he directed. And this is a thought that I would like you to stop over. Let us give our best of everything to the Lord. And when we have given it let us be willing that He should do with it as he sees fit. Sometimes we think we are ready to give our best, but we would like to dictate as to where or how it shall be used. Let us see to it that it is a complete surrender.

If you will look upon the map and trace the course of the Missouri River you will come to a place marked Fort Sully, near the centre of Dakota. To this far-away region as the wife of an Indian Missionary, who was himself the son of a pioneer in Indian Missions, Nina Foster went to make her home in a log cabin, shutting away from the busy world her beauty and her talents, giving her young life to the cause of Indian Missions. She gave herself to the work joyfully. We are told that her "sense of humor and keen wit lightened many a load for herself and others; the more forlorn and hopeless the situation, the more elastic her spirits." She always made the best of everything. Even when the road was so rough and the riding so insecure that she had to be strapped in to keep from falling out of the wagon she made merry over the circumstance instead of detailing it as a hardship. For five years she labored among the Dakota Indian women, who speak of her as the "beautiful woman who spoke so well." Then God called her to himself.

Was this life, with its beauty and its talents, wasted? We cannot think so; we know not why God called her to bury herself for a few years in that remote region, and then, just when the work seemed opening before her, why he should call her away. Perhaps he wanted to show to a doubting world that the cause of Missions was so important that for its advancement he would use the very one whom the world looked upon as too good for the work. Perhaps he wanted to prove to some doubter the power of that love that would draw such an one as Nina Foster Riggs away from the admiring and flattering circle in which she moved and lead her to give herself to a life of self-sacrifice.

It may be that he wanted to put a bright gem in the midst of the darkness of ignorance and heathenism, that its shining might "enlighten, captivate, lead forth and refine."

For us, we may learn that our best, our very best, even _ourselves_, is the gift we are called upon to give. Shall we consecrate whatever we have, whatever we are, to the service of our Lord--_now_?

FAYE HUNTINGTON.

"FOR MY KING."

JUST to shine for Jesus Every day-- Just to sing his praises On my way;

Just to gather jewels By his aid, To go onward ever Not afraid;

Just to drop a love word As I go, Just to cheer a lone heart In its woe;

Just to smile for Jesus, On my way-- To work and speak for Jesus When I may;

Just to shine for Jesus Everywhere, This, O Blessed Saviour! Is my prayer. MRS. C. E. FISHER.

JENNIE'S VICTORY.

"JENNIE," said her sister Ella, "you are fond of talking about gaining victories; but I think if you would only conquer that bad temper, it would be a glorious victory."

But this made Jennie angry; and she went away to nurse her anger.

The first book she took up happened to be a Bible; it opened of itself to the place: "A soft answer turneth away wrath."

Meantime, would you like to know what was the trouble? On their way home from school, Jennie and her friend Albert quarrelled. Albert said Jennie's friend Lila Johnson missed a word, and Jennie said she didn't; and they disputed until both were angry.

As Jennie read the Bible verse, she could not help thinking what if she had answered Albert that perhaps she was mistaken; then she was sure all would have been right between them; however, she was too angry to listen to the soft voice which was whispering this in her ear; she closed the book, and went down stairs.

Cousin Harold was in the sitting-room with Ella; when he caught sight of Jennie's red face and tearful eyes he began to question. Harold's advice was to ask Albert's pardon; and he volunteered to go with her to Albert's house.

Jennie was almost sure to do as cousin Harold said, and in a short time they were walking down street together.

Only a block from her own house she met Albert, and stopping, said hurriedly: "Albert, I'm coming to tell you that I'm sorry."

Said Albert, "So am I."

"There!" said cousin Harold, "I fancy you have gained quite a victory. What a fine thing it would be, if you were always a brave general, and gained victories for the right."

After that, she went to a store with Harold, and waited while he did some errands. While they were there, Albert came skipping back to ask Jennie to go home with him to tea; that mamma said so, and she had a real nice tea for him, "because it's my birthday, you know."

Cousin Harold gave permission, and away went the happy children who were enemies such a short time before, but had been made friends by a few "soft words."

BY A LITTLE GIRL.

SEE here, my Blossoms, keep your thoughts carefully fixed on what I am going to tell you, so that you will understand, and not have to ask me any questions. Sometimes, you know, when mamma is talking to you, you only half listen, and pretty soon you say: "O, mamma, what did you say? I didn't quite understand." You mean, "I was thinking about something else."

Now! Attention! If you, my Blossom, have received, with your badge, a letter signed "Pansy" in which I have answered your questions, and given you greeting, you of course will not expect me to reply to your letter again in THE PANSY. Because people do not receive two replies to one letter, now do they? But if, on the contrary, you have received through my secretary, your badge, and a line stating that your letter will be answered in THE PANSY, in due time, why, then look out for it; though when its turn will come is more than I can tell you; the truth is, there are at least a _thousand_ letters now awaiting answers! If some of you get gray before I can reach you with a letter, you will not blame me, will you? Because, really and truly, I am doing my _very_ best; and I answer privately all the letters I possibly can, so that you will not have to wait so long.

Meantime, I expect each of you to show how patient and unselfish a Pansy Blossom can be in this matter, as well as in larger ones.

I wish you a very pleasant Fourth of July. I hope it will be "independence day" to you; that you will each prove yourselves free from every chain which Satan can think of to try to throw around you on that day.

If you feel like writing to tell me how you spent the day, and what one thing you did in it to give some one a happy time, whom you thought might else be forgotten, I shall be very glad to hear the stories. Remember to send your letters to Chautauqua, Chautauqua Co., N. Y., and my secretary who is there, will see that I receive them promptly.

And now, good-by once more, until August.

Lovingly, PANSY.

* * * * *

_Violet_ from Maine. So violets can blossom in your State in the midst of a snowstorm! I am glad; and I hope it is a very sweet flower. Still I see the weeds trouble you. The one you mention, grows very fast, unless constantly watched. Don't let it hurt the perfume of your blossom.

_Clintie_ from Massachusetts. Dear little boy, we welcome you to our garden. Fretful words are troublesome weeds; and it is sometimes a great temptation to use them to those who are _in_ our family, but not _of_ it. I am glad you are pledged to watch their growth. Those who are all the time away from their homes and friends, need our help in every possible way.

_Emily_ from Connecticut. Dear! dear! these _tongues_. What shall we do with them! And yet, what would we do without them? It is so easy to think of some bright little word to say in return, at just the moment when we ought to keep quiet. I read of a boy who kept a clothes pin in his pocket, ready to clap on his tongue when he was tempted to speak words which he ought not. But I think there are better checks than clothes pins. Don't you?

_Lulu_ from New York. Another Blossom from the "Snow!" You are welcome. "Slang" is a word which covers a very disagreeable habit indeed. It astonishes me to see how many people who think themselves cultivated, indulge in it. I have noticed that it is sometimes connected with the other weed of which you speak. By all means get rid of them both, keeping the "Whisper Motto" in mind.