Another old man, with bitterness of soul and tremulousness of speech, when replying to the refusal of his request for a missionary for his people, said: "My eyes have grown dim with long watching, and my hair has grown grey while longing for a missionary." These importunate appeals, transmitted year after year to the missionary authorities, at length, in a measure, so aroused the Churches that more help was sent, but not before the toilers on the ground had almost killed themselves in the work. Vast indeed was the area of some of those mission fields, and wretched and toilsome were the methods of travel over them. George McDougall's mission was larger than all France; Henry Steinhaur's was larger than Germany; the one of which Norway House was the principal station was over five hundred miles long, and three hundred wide; and there were others just as large. No wonder men quickly broke down and had soon to retire from such work. The prisoners in the jails and penitentiaries of the land live on much better fare than did these heroic men and their families. The great staple of the North was fish. Fish twenty-one times a week for six months, and not much else with it. True, it was sometimes varied by a pot of boiled muskrat or a roasted leg of a wild cat. Yet, amid such hardships, which tried both souls and bodies, they toiled on bravely and uncomplainingly, and, as far as possible, responded to the pleading Macedonian calls that came to them for help, from the remote regions still farther beyond, and gladly welcomed to their numbers the additional helpers when they arrived. With only one of these deputations pleading for a missionary have we here to do. It was a cold, wintry morning. The fierce storms of that northern land were howling outside, and the frost king seemed to be holding high carnival. Quickly and quietly was the door of the mission house opened, and in there came two Indians. One of them was our beloved friend Memotas, who was warmly greeted by all, for he was a general favourite. The little children of the mission home, Sagastaookemou and Minnehaha, rushed into his arms and kissed his bronzed but beautiful face. When their noisy greetings were over, he introduced the stranger who was with him. He seemed to be about twenty-seven or twenty-eight years of age, and was a fine, handsome looking man; in fact, an ideal Indian of the forest. Very cordially was he welcomed, and Memotas said his name was Oowikapun. Thus was our hero in the mission house, and in the presence of the first missionary he had ever seen. How had he reached this place? and what was the object of his coming? These questions we will try to answer.