We must remember that it was not by interceding for the world in glory that Jesus saved it. He gave Himself. Our prayers for the evangelization of the world are but a bitter irony so long as we only give of our superfluity and draw back before the sacrifice of ourselves.--M. Francois Coillard. We heartily echo the words of this sainted missionary to the Barotse, but we believe that the thought uppermost in the heart of each of the four waiting ones at Bulawayo was not sacrifice but privilege, on that July morning, so long ago, when the command to go forward was given. We were soon to reach our destination, the place to which we had started from New York over seven months previously. An account of this trip written at the time reads somewhat as follows: We left Bulawayo on the evening of July 4 and traveled three nights and two days before the mission valley was reached. The nights were cool and a bright moon lighted up the way, so that traveling went better at night than during the heat of the day. The wagon was about eighteen feet long, very strong and heavy, and was drawn by eighteen donkeys. These were led by one native boy, while another with a long whip was doing the driving. The load of about three tons was very heavy--too heavy, in fact, for a part of the way. Donkeys can travel only two miles an hour on good roads and on poor roads it sometimes requires two hours to go one mile. Occasionally we stopped from two to four hours to let the donkeys rest and graze. During such times we would build fire on the veldt, and cook and eat our food; or, if it were night, we would wrap our blankets about us, take our pillows, and lie down in the shelter of some friendly bush and sleep. Mother Engle usually preferred the shelter of the tent on the back of the wagon, although the place was too much crowded for her to rest comfortably. Since the load was so heavy we spent a great deal of the time walking. We would walk ahead of the wagon for a distance, then sit down and rest until the wagon reached us. Only two of three settlers' houses were visible, and no native kraals, and we were informed that as soon as the white man makes a road, the natives move away from it. After twenty miles of travel we came to Fort Usher. At this place there reside an English magistrate and a number of white police. Here we were kindly received and given a native guide for the rest of the journey. We now left the government road and plunged into the hills. The wagon went along another five miles with very little difficulty. Then it mired on going through a swampy place, one side sinking nearly to the hubs of the wheels, and further progress was impossible. All put forth every effort to extricate it but to no avail. What was to be done?