Happy Memotas; only a little while longer did he tarry with us. A little additional cold was all that was needed to finish the work in a constitution so nearly shattered. When he felt it assailing him there came very clearly to him the presentiment that the end was near. And never did a weary traveller welcome his home and bed of rest with greater delight than did Memotas welcome the grave and the bliss beyond. The prospect of getting to heaven seemed so glorious that he could hardly think of anything else. This was now his one absorbing thought. Like all the rest of these Northern Indians, he was very poor, and had nothing in his home for food of his own but fish. But there were loving hearts at the mission house, and so willing hands carried supplies as needed to his little habitation. On one occasion, when that dear, good missionary, Reverend John Semmens, who had gone with me, as together we had lovingly supplied his wants, said to him: "Now, beloved Memotas, can we do anything else for you? Do you want anything more?" "O, no," replied Memotas; "I want nothing but Christ. More of Christ." When we administered to him the emblems of the broken body and spilt blood of the dear Redeemer, he was much affected, and exclaimed, "My precious Saviour. I shall soon see him." Seeing his intense longing to go sweeping through the gates of the celestial city, I said to him: "Memotas, my brother beloved, why are you so anxious to leave us? I hope you will be spared to us a little longer. We need you in the Church and in the village. We want your presence, your example, your prayers." He was a little perplexed at first, and seemed hardly to know how to answer. Then he looked up at me so chidingly, and gave me the answer that outweighs all arguments: "I want to go home." And home he went, gloriously and triumphantly. His face was so radiant and shining that it seemed to us as though the heavenly gates had swung back, and from the glory land some of its brightness had come flashing down, and had so illumined the poor body that still held in its faltering grasp the precious soul, that we could almost imagine that mortal itself was putting on immortality. The triumphant death of Memotas was not only a revelation and a benediction to Oowikapun and Astumastao, and many other Christian Indians, but it caused the full and complete surrender of many hard, stubborn hearts to Christ. So short a time had our hero and heroine been in the way that, happy as they were in their present enjoyment of the favour of God, they had had their fears as they thought of the last enemy which is death. In the quietude of their wigwam home they had asked themselves, and each other, the solemn question, Will this religion sustain us in the valley and shadow of death? or, How will we do in the swellings of Jordan? Natural and solemn are these questions, and wise and prudent are they in all lands who thoughtfully and reverently ask them.