A cousin of Sallosalton’s, a bright youth who had attended our school, in whom I had become very much interested, was taken very sick with a fever, and the conjurer (witch-doctor) was called in. I visited him, and saw that the old conjurer’s rattling and the additional noise of the people beating time to his rattle or drum and boards, together with the yelling and singing for hours, was only distracting the poor boy and making him very much worse. I went to the town and consulted the only doctor there. He came to see my young friend, and said he felt sure that if the medicine were administered properly, and we could keep the old conjurer away, there was good hope of his recovery. So I told the people that we did not want the conjurer there any more, and that they must help me to keep the lad quiet. Night after night I sat up in order to administer the medicine and keep the old imposter away, and thus give him the necessary quiet. But I found that secretly during the day, while I was resting, they would call in the conjurer again, as his friends had more faith in him than in our medicine and nursing. Several days passed before I discovered their doings. But one day I slipped into the house unexpectedly and found the old fellow rattling over him, with a number of his friends keeping time with sticks on a board, to assist the old imposter, as he said, “to get the power.” I rushed in and ordered him to stop and leave. A day or two after I found him again at the same thing, all painted up and nearly naked, and partly stretched out upon the body of the sick man, howling and rattling away. My indignation was aroused, and I said to him, “If you don’t stop you’ll kill that boy. Leave at once! and if you don’t I’ll bundle you out of the house.” [Illustration: “One day I slipped in and found the old fellow rattling over him.” _p. 121_] He saw that I was making for him, when he got up and crawled out, saying that he was there by invitation. Of course, the father, mother and friends, who were responsible, were very much disgusted at my action. I continued my watch by the poor boy for several nights, and had the joy of knowing that he was trusting in Jesus. However, I was suddenly called away to the Fraser River, and, much to my regret, had to leave the sick one. After I left they got the conjurer back, and finished their work, for the boy died soon afterwards. “YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND MY SICK.” It is lamentable to behold the superstitious dread of these people of the power of the witch-doctor to do them harm. During my stay at Nanaimo a bright, intelligent young man, about nineteen years of age, by the name of Charlie, attended our school. I missed him for some days, and on inquiry learned that he was sick. I made my way to the old heathen house where he lived, and there found him lying on a wretched cot, covered with his old dirty blanket. I said, “Charlie, what’s the matter?” “I am sick, sir,” he replied.