When we reached the Mission last year, the natives used to bring large numbers of fowls for sale: at first they brought more than could be used. They were equally ready to sell eggs. Moreover, when there was a rumour of war in the district, they fetched in fowls from every quarter, for when they had to run to the hills they could carry their “money” more easily than their fowls. The effect of all this was that the native villagers in the neighbourhood soon sold off their stock, and as a consequence the Missionaries had no meat. On fowls we depended almost entirely, for though the Magololo had a few sheep and goats, they did not care to sell them. Various means were tried in order to keep the wolf from the door. In the early days of the Mission, before there was much to do, and when most of the staff were unwell, it had been possible to tell off an invalid to look after the fowls, but all of us were too busy now. We adopted the plan of giving fowls over to villagers, and we soon found that if they could not take better care of them than the white man they could always _account for_ them better, for every now and then they were able to report that a dozen had been killed by a leopard! But the matter became serious—we often found ourselves without food. On one occasion we had to live chiefly on beans for nearly five weeks. The only good solution of this difficulty was found when we planted a new Mission. To it we looked for a supply till the Blantyre district recovered itself. Many a time the petition for daily bread had a significance for us here that it never had in Britain. It might be supposed that a Missionary is in danger of becoming less spiritually-minded when surrounded by the heathen. But on the contrary, not to mention the solemn call which he feels when he is face to face with heathendom, he is apt to realize his dependence on God much more vividly than in a civilized land. Each night he knows that a drunk native might easily burn him in his hut before he awakes.