Others came with their donations, until $12.50 lay on the table, and this of their own free will, for I had not talked to them about church building. During the week which followed I went from village to village throughout the valley, visiting and vaccinating all who needed it. At every opportunity I preached to the people and told what the old chief and his “see-aya” (friends) had done towards a church, until the donations increased to nearly $100. The following Sunday afternoon, after having preached to both whites and Indians in another part of the valley, I came to Squi-ala, a village at the mouth of the Chilliwack. Big Jim, an Indian, met me in his canoe, to take me across the river. I took the saddle off my horse, put it in the canoe, and the intelligent little beast swam behind us over to the other side. “Me think not many come to-day, Mr. Crosby. Priest he come.” The priest, having heard I had made this appointment, had evidently intended to be there at the same time. “Well, Jim,” I replied, “suppose you and I and Jesus, we will have a good time. Ring your bell!” He rang his little hand bell, and nearly everybody crowded into the big house where we were going to have service. Among those present I found a number of white men who had come, some of them, a long distance, bringing their half-breed families to be vaccinated. As soon as the service was over I said to the people, “I am going away to-morrow, and if any wish to be vaccinated, now is the time.” [Illustration: FIRST PROTESTANT CHURCH IN THE CHILLIWACK VALLEY. _p. 172_] Numbers came forward, and uncovering the arms of themselves and their children, I went to work, scratching and putting on the vaccine. While thus engaged, a knock was heard on the door, and presently it opened and someone, very abruptly and in broken English, said, “Is Mr. Crosby here?” “That is my name, sir,” I replied. “I would like to speak to you,” said the priest, for it was he. “When I get through my duty I shall be glad to speak to you, sir,” and I went on with my work. This complete, I bade the people good-bye, warning them not to listen to what the devil might say when I was gone. He would very likely say that I had taken their money. I expected to be back in three months, and would then see about building a church. In the meantime I would leave the subscription list with Mr. A. C. Wells, a respected settler whom they all knew. Going to the door, I met my brother the priest. “You wish to speak to me, sir,” I said. “Yes, I want to say that you take all my converts away.” “I beg your pardon! I didn’t do anything to your converts.” “But,” he persisted, “these are all my converts that are here.” “Well, sir, I only preach the Gospel to them, as I do wherever I go,” I replied. “I don’t care about your Gospel; it’s no good,” and the eyes of the little priest flashed as he continued, “You compel one man to give money to help build your church.”