But the missionaries shook their heads. "No, no, it is too dangerous," they told her. And her friends the traders said, "It is a gun-boat they want, Ma, not a missionary." It was hard for her eager spirit to wait. For fourteen years she had worked in the factory at Dundee, for ten more she had toiled in the towns on the Calabar River, and she was now a grown woman. But God often keeps us at a task far longer than we ourselves think is good for us, for He knows best, and if we are patient to the end He lets us do even more than we had hoped for. So it was with Mary Slessor. She was at last allowed to go. [Illustration: THE OKOYONG DISTRICT.] The Okoyong people, however, would not have her. "We want no missionary, man or woman," they said sullenly. For a whole year messengers went up and down the river, but the tribe remained firm. Then Ma said: "I'll go myself and see them." One hot June day she got the loan of King Eyo's canoe, a hollow tree-trunk twenty feet long, on which there was a little arch of palm leaves to shade her from the sun, and set out up the Calabar River. As she lay back on a pillow she thought how pretty and peaceful the scene was--the calm water gleaming in the light of the sky, the cotton trees and bananas and palms along the banks, the brilliant birds and butterflies flitting about. The only sound was the dip of the paddles and the soft voices of the men singing about their Ma. And then she thought of what might lie before her, of the perils of the forest, and the anger of the blood-thirsty Okoyong, and wondered if she had done right. "We'll have a cup of tea, anyhow," she said to herself, and got out an old paraffin stove, but found that matches had been forgotten. Coming to a farm the canoe swung into a mud-beach, and Ma went ashore, and was happy to find that the owner was a "big" man whom she knew. He gave her some matches, and on they went again. When the tea was ready Ma opened a tin of stewed steak and cut up a loaf of home-made bread. "Boy," she said, "where is the cup?" "No cup, Ma--forgotten." "Bother! now what shall I do?" "I wash out that steak tin, Ma." "Right; if you use what you have you will never want." But alas! the tin slipped out of his hand and sank. Ma was a philosopher. "Ah, well," she said, "it cannot be helped. I'll drink out of the saucer."