Among the colored people great stress is laid upon “joining the church.” This is one of the evils against which we have to fight. It is the only idea many of them have of what it is to be a Christian. One day, when returning home from making a call on Aunt Judy, the minister’s wife called me, saying the girls wished to see me. She has a number of girls from “up country,” who board with her and attend our school. I followed her into the room where they were, and said, on entering, “Well, girls, what is troubling you?” There was silence for a moment; then one bright girl looked up saying, “Oh, Miss Robertson, won’t you tell us what to do? We thought we were Christians, we belong to the church, but we are beginning to find out that that isn’t enough. We are not living for Christ. Won’t you tell us how to be such Christians as our teachers are?” With a short prayer for help, I pointed them to the Divine Example, and during the remaining days of school we had proof that they were imitating Him. Those girls went out into various parts of the country this summer to teach, carrying Jesus with them. Who can estimate the good they will do? Every Tuesday and Thursday evening at the cabins the people hold neighborhood meetings. Desiring very much to see how these were conducted, I started out one evening with one of my girls. After walking about a mile through the woods we reached the cabin, which was crowded with dusky faces. As I entered, room was made for me at one side of the fire-place, in which was a crackling fire of pine knots. They asked me to read to them, so I opened my Bible to the CIII. Psalm. How eagerly and attentively they listened as it was read and explained. Then each one took part, either singing or praying. Then together they began to sing their old slave songs, keeping time by clapping and shaking hands, bobbing their heads and scraping their feet. Every part of the body seemed in motion. As I watched the strange scene, I thought, “Will this form of worship die out with the old slaves, or will it be continued by our young people?” I turned at that moment to look at my companion. A woman had just stepped up to her saying, “Why don’t you shake hands?” “Because I see no sense in it,” was the reply. On our way home she inquired of me if I did not think the last part of that meeting was more like a frolic than praising God? How rejoiced I was to hear that young girl express herself in such a manner. Truly, “Our labor is not in vain in the Lord.”