The result of an inadequate force of missionaries at a station is not so much that the missionary is overworked—most missionaries are not making any such complaint—but that the work is not adequately done. And this wears on mind and heart; for the work is one, and if a part of it be neglected the whole must suffer. It is not the work that the missionary actually does that wears him out, but that which he does not do and cannot do, although perhaps his success depends upon it. The Fang work included itinerating over a field more than a hundred miles by fifty miles, and the charge of a school in which I had no adequate assistant for two years. To this was added the Mpongwe work when Mr. Boppell’s health compelled him to leave the field. The Mpongwe work included the charge of the church at Baraka with its regular Sunday and mid-week services, and the pastoral work, a class in the Sunday-school, a teachers’ meeting, and the instruction of a candidate for the ministry. At such a station there is also a great deal of secular work; the care of the premises and the buildings, which are in constant need of repair, the care of several boats, the buying of building material, the charge of a store, ordering and receiving our own supplies, the treasurership—the latter a large work, because all purchases of goods and food were made in Europe and America. I suffered some under the strain, and the work, of course, suffered more than I did. My day and evening were laid out by the hour in a routine that was fixed as far as circumstances would allow. The arrival of an English steamer, once a month, deranged all plans; but it was a welcome interruption, chiefly because it brought the mail. It is a pathetic instance of the white man’s interest that the natives everywhere, even if they know no other word of English, have learned to call the steamer, “the mail,” because this is what they hear the white man say when he sees it. The steamer nearly always came in the morning. While it was still fifteen miles away we could see the smoke on the horizon. There was always a strife among the boys and the men for which of them would be the first to announce it. At the sight of it they all came running and shouting, “Mail! Mail!” If Toko made the announcement he would say: “Mr. Milligan, mail live for come; I look him.” Immediately I call Ndong Koni and tell him to call the crew, get out the _Evangeline_, and see that they all have their uniforms.