I was gathering a class of Fang boys who had already received a primary education in the school at Angom, hoping that with time and training they might become teachers, and later on, in the providence of God, perhaps preachers. I heard of this boy, and immediately I visited the town where he was staying. The name of the town was typical, _Ebol Nzok_: _Rotten Elephant_. It seems that when the people of this town still lived in the interior bush they sent a delegation down the river to choose a site for a new town near the coast. The delegation selected a beautiful site, where the river broadens out into the great estuary. They returned and reported their success, and the whole large town at once prepared to move. As they approached the chosen site, and while they were still at a distance, they found the atmosphere of the new country pervaded with a most disagreeable smell which grew worse and worse,—a horrible stench which made them hold their noses, a breath from Gehenna, almost palpable. They forced a passage through it and went on until they reached the middle of the chosen site, where they found the huge carcass of an elephant in an acute stage of decomposition. They thought it proper to commemorate this historical incident in the name of their town, which they called _Rotten Elephant_: _Ebol Nzok_. When I visited Ebol Nzok and asked for Ndong Mba they told me he was away in the distant gardens at work; so I left word that I would like to see him at Baraka as soon as he could come. One morning, not long after, a tiny little boy came into my study and stood before me, his body thin and frail, but unusually clean, and with extraordinary eyes, dark and sparkling beneath long black lashes. Looking up eagerly into my face and very much excited, he said: “I’m Ndong Mba; I’ve come; and I’m so glad you sent for me. I have not seen a missionary since Mr. Marling died; and I’ve not been to church, and I’ve not been to school, and I thought the missionaries had thrown me away. And there were no Christians where I live. I was alone; and I prayed and prayed all the time to come back to the mission; and now I’m here; and I’m so glad; and I will do anything you ask if you let me stay here; for I can work, and you won’t be sorry if you let me be your boy.” Thus he went on with his pathetic appeal. And this was really Ndong Mba, of whom I had so often heard! The unusual intelligence of the eyes that looked into mine, eyes in which the tears were now quivering, the faded rag—but very clean—which was the sum of his clothing, and other marks of neglect and suffering, moved me deeply. Drawing the poor little waif close to me I said: “I am glad to see you, Ndong Mba,” which he accepted as a sufficient answer.