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, sometimes to his waist.  Thus they tow the boat a half mile.  From the way they hold their breath the water must be cold.  Well, it is October 10, in blizzard-swept Dakota.  But after two hours of work we are safely landed on the west side of the river and soon we are toiling slowly out of the breaks of the river.  After a ride of a few hours we come to a creek with no water but plenty of wood.  Here dinner is announced.  This is camping in earnest.  This is not play.  Camping in the East is generally within sound of the cackle of the hen and the low of the cow.  But here you must live off of the land or out of your mess-chest.  We combine the two.  Many hotels and families could learn a good lesson from an experienced traveler and camper.  In less than thirty minutes from the time we stop, horses are unharnessed, fire built, prairie chicken dressed and cooked, coffee made, table spread, blessing asked and we busy with the tender and juicy chicken.  This is the same order at each meal.

At night we sleep on the earth and under the sky, with but little between us and either sky or earth.  This is a new and somewhat larger bedroom than I have been used to.  But with no house within twenty miles we are unmolested.  What a place!  I listen.  “All the air a solemn stillness holds.”  I look.  “So lonesome it is that God himself scarce seems to be there.”  But the clear air and quiet night soon lull me into unbroken slumber.  Thus we travel until we reach Park St. Church Station, where we find our comfortable log house of one room ready to receive us.  Though we reach the house at eleven o’clock at night,