The congregation rise and sing together in full, sweet chorus, as only a colored audience can, “My faith looks up to thee.” The minister reads the creed and covenant, and then the Indian scholars, whose parents had, perhaps, hardly heard the name of Christ, come one by one to receive the rite of baptism. As they kneel beside the font the minister says to each, separately and calling him by name, “Do you promise to take Jesus Christ as your Saviour, to love him and serve him? Do you _promise_?” and the emphatic Indian assent and little Annie’s timid “Yes, sir,” are heard through the still church, and those who wait to hear know that the heart’s promise has gone with the lips. Ahuka (White Wolf) comes first for baptism. As he stands there quiet and reverent, a sudden memory of the first time we saw and knew him flashes across our minds. We see again the school-room, the day after the arrival of the new pupils. They are seated in a semi-circle around a teacher, who stands by a black-board on which some easy English words have been written: “Stand up; Walk; Stop; Look up;” which she has been teaching the scholars to illustrate. On the front seat at one end sits Ahuka, a somewhat alarming-looking pupil. His thick, shaggy, black hair bangs down to his waist over the blanket which he holds wrapped tight about him, while he casts now and then stealthy but keen glances from under his heavy eyebrows. Teacher debates for a few seconds whether to call on him for a recitation; but concludes not to shirk, and he comes to the board. Teacher points to the first word on the blackboard, on the pronunciation of which she has been drilling the class, and looks at the brave for a response. Brave looks at her, then at the word, back again, more sharply at her, says nothing. Teacher mustn’t expect a response in a hurry, keeps her pointer on the word and her eye on the brave. Brave continues to transfer his glance from the word to the teacher, till suddenly, whether in despair or rage she cannot tell, he throws his head back, bends forward and utters a prolonged howl. Teacher with difficulty restrains herself from a flight down the corridor, and doesn’t question why he is called “the Wolf.” It is no difficult task to picture him back in the wilds of Dakota. We think of him now: his quiet and reverent manner; the pleading look we have learned to know in the once defiant, savage eyes, and we pray that as he is laying aside all that was the pride and pleasure of his savage strength he may grow (slowly he must, but certainly he shall) into the beauty and power and glory of a Christian manhood.