While I was still there Dr. Good had planned a trip of three weeks into the interior further than he had yet gone with a view to choosing a site for another mission station; but circumstances at Efulen led him to postpone the journey. At that time he received a message from a notorious and dreaded chief of the interior near the present Elat, warning him not to dare to come into his country, for that he would surely kill him. Dr. Good, however, continued his preparations for the journey. In the course of a long and serious conversation as to what it would be best to do in case that interior chief or any other should do him violence or should capture and detain him, he urged and exacted from me a promise that in any event the German government should not be called to his assistance, even to save his life. Not that he denied his right to protection but he knew the severity of the government, having recently witnessed it in a war upon a neighbouring tribe. And indeed I myself had arrived in Africa in time to see something of the desolation of that war in the silent and smoking remains of towns from which the people (all who had escaped from the sword) had fled into the depths of the forest. For instance, two little boys who had just been taken into our school at Batanga had been found alone in the forest, and crying beside the dead body of their mother. I yielded to Dr. Good a reluctant promise as he desired; for I could not controvert the moral principle which actuated this strong, brave-hearted man. For other reasons he did not go at that time; but not long after I left Africa, and upon the arrival of others, he set out upon this hard and uncertain journey. Perhaps he erred on the side of economy and indifference to comfort, not providing himself with everything procurable that could conserve his strength and vitality. He made extensive explorations of the interior, chose the site for a new station, returned to Efulen exhausted, and the next day was stricken with fever. The third day afterwards he died, having been delirious most of the time. He was only thirty-seven years old. His last conscious words were a message to the church at home, “See that I have not laboured in vain.” Great man and great missionary! There was something about Dr. Good that always reminded one of Livingstone. Six years later, standing at his grave on Efulen hill, where every tree and every foot of ground were associated with his memory, I recalled the inscription in the crypt of St. Paul’s Cathedral, over the tomb of Sir Christopher Wren, its great architect. “If you ask a monument look around you.” The Church of Efulen, the growth of which has since been marvellous, no costly pile of stone or marble, but of more precious human souls upon whose darkness the light of heaven has dawned, the large congregation that gathers there to worship the true God, and the many changes in the community near and far—these are the lasting monuments of Dr. Good. IX THE KRUBOYS