“Oh, I am so glad to hear you say that,” the girl replied, her eyes shining with gratitude. “And it is so nice to feel that God will not punish me for what I did. I was afraid he would.”
Marion thought of the girl’s words as she sat alone that night. Zell was asleep in the little room, and the Indian woman was lying upon the cot near the stove. The house was very quiet, the crackling of the sticks in the stove being the only sound which broke the silence. Marion had been reading again the Journal, but she now let the book lie open in her lap, her mind filled with conflicting thoughts. Strange were the ways of life, she mused. Zell imagined that God punished people for not being good. But what about the earnest missionaries who had toiled so long among the Indians at The Gap? Surely there was no injustice with God. His ways, she knew, were past finding out, although she was certain that He did all things well, and over-ruled evil for good. Again she picked up the book and began to read at random words written with a trembling hand.
“The Indians are leaving us, being drawn away by the attractions of white men. Only a few come to service now, and no doubt they will soon go, too. We have no children at school now, and the house is very lonely. We do not know what to do to counteract the mischief which has been wrought in our flock. We cannot offer the natives the allurements of the world which seem to appeal to them so strongly. Charles continues his translation work and ministering to the needs of the few Indians who remain, while I potter around the house and do a little reading and writing. My dear husband and I had a long, serious talk this morning, and took our troubles to Him, who has never
