In the year that followed we built a very comfortable frame-house--indeed, two of them--one for Mr. Jonas Pettijohn's family--comfortable, except that the snow would drift in through the ash shingles. Some of the older children can, perhaps, remember times when there was _more snow inside than outside_. We were up on the hill, and not under it, where Dr. Williamson and Mr. Huggins had built a dozen years before; and consequently the winter winds were fiercer, though we all thought the summers were pleasanter. In this house our _sixth_ child was born, who has no Dakota cognomen. We shall call him Ishakpe. The half-dozen years in which we made that house our home were full of work, broken in upon by a year spent in the East--myself in New York City chiefly. Henry, who could say to enquirers, "I was two years old last September," and Isabella were with their mother in Massachusetts and Brooklyn--Martha and Anna in the capital of Minnesota, and Thomas at the mission station of Kaposia; Alfred, I believe, was at Galesburg, Ill. EDUCATING THE CHILDREN. It has been a question that we often discussed, "How shall we get our children educated?" The basis of allowance from the treasury of the board had been on the principle of the Methodist circuit riders. The $250 with which we commenced was increased $50 for each child. So that at this time our salary was either $500 or $550. It was never greater than the last sum until after the outbreak in 1862. We lived on it comfortably, but there was very little margin for sending children away to school. And now we were reaching that point in our family history when a special effort must be made in that direction. Before we went on East in 1851, the mother and I had talked the matter over--perhaps some good family would like to take one of the children to educate. And so it was, more than one good offer was received for the little boy Henry. But our hearts failed us. Mrs. Minerva Cook of Brooklyn said to me, "You are afraid we will make an Episcopalian of him." So near was he to being a bishop! MISSION HOUSE BURNED. Many remembrances have to be passed over. The last picture I have of those mission houses at Lac-qui-parle is when, on the 3d of March, 1854, they were enveloped in fire. The two little boys had been down cellar to get potatoes for their mother, and, holding the lighted candle too near to the dry hay underneath the floor, the whole was soon in a conflagration, which our poor efforts could not stop. The houses were soon a heap of ashes, and the meat and many of the potatoes in the cellar were cooked. The adobe church was then our asylum, and the family home for the summer. BUILD AT HAZELWOOD.