On another day we heard that our good old friend Afraid-of-the-Clouds had been thrown from his wagon and badly hurt. We found the tall figure, which we had always been accustomed to see so erect and soldierly in bearing, stretched on the ground in his tent, silent and motionless. With evident pain and effort the dear old man tried to explain how it happened. He did not complain and spoke very gently, but the expression of suffering on the wrinkled face made me fear he would never get up again, and my own sorrow at the thought was hard to conceal. He was only (?) an "old Indian," one of those "old Indians" who are often so lightly spoken of as of no account; but whose dignity and strength of character, and gentle, gracious courtesy, command the respect of those who really know them. And he had been a loyal friend and faithful helper in the years that we had been neighbors. And though he still clung to his old faith, he seemed as grateful for the reading of God's Word and prayer as for the material help we tried to give. Time passed, and by-and-by he was up and about again, and wanted to be given some work to do. One day he came into the house and seated himself in the deliberate way which told that he had something on his mind, which would demand my undivided attention, and said: "You are a white woman. I am a Dakota. But when I was sick your heart was sad. I hold it in my heart." That was all; that and the silent hand-grasp as he went out. But somehow I felt as if what the old man felt in his heart was very secure there. One bright Sabbath morning, with our deacon, One-Thunder, we visited a neighboring church eight or ten miles up the river. The regular native teacher was away, attending the great annual mission meeting; but two other young men had been appointed to take charge of the service together--Anselm Kill-the-Crow and Clinton High-Horse. The latter took for his text, "Ye are the salt of the earth." Retaining the figurative form of the verse, the young preacher made clear its spiritual teaching, and by his direct and forceful application revealed the thoughtfulness and earnestness of his own heart. The remarks of the other alluded to the name chosen for the little church. "The Church of the Messiah;" and he urged upon those present that it be not in name only, but in deed and in truth, _His_ church. The after-service greetings to the visitors were cordial, as usual--even the babies being encouraged to hold out tiny brown hands, with their mothers' injunctions to "nape yuza" (shake hands). Hole-in-his-Tooth, who is always eager to take orders during the plum season, consented to postpone business transactions until the next day. The Woman's Missionary Society had five dollars to hand over, to be forwarded to the "Wotanin Waste;" that is, far missionary work. Everybody seemed wide awake and happy; and as we drove away, the Y. M. C. A. were about to hold their services.