A sad-faced man wants to see the minister. We know his pitiful story and
his errand before he speaks. A sick wife and six young children. The
desperate daily fight with the hunger-wolf at the door, spite of the
little lifts we try to give them. Now the wife is dead, and he comes to
ask for money to buy a coffin and a place to lay her away. He has tried
in vain elsewhere, so comes to us, and we cannot refuse. A few hours
after, the pitiful little procession passes by. The pine coffin in an
old cart, the husband and children, the minister and a few friends,
following on foot. Such calls are frequent. Does the money ever come
back? _Once_ it did.

So it goes on, day after day, twenty, thirty, sometimes forty calls, for
all these incidents are actual facts, and fair samples of our daily
experiences and only a small part of our work. There is a large
household to look after, and between times there must be flying visits
to the distant kitchen to see that everything is going on right there. A
watchful eye must look after the details of the dining room and see to
the comfort of the whole household. Supplies must be ordered; bills must
be paid; there are countless letters to write; there are sorrowful
hearts to be comforted; wayward church members to look after; cold, dead
prayer meetings to warm up; the Sunday-school to carry along; mother's
meetings and children's meetings and missionary societies. An unlimited
stock of patience, tact and good nature must be constantly on hand to
keep all the machinery running smoothly, while the work is exhausting,
wearing out body and soul far too soon.

Does it pay? _Yes!_ for slowly but surely this people is being lifted up
to a higher life, and while we sometimes grow faint and heartsick and
discouraged, still there are rifts in the clouds and bits of sunshine