The large parlor of the hospital was fitted up for the service, and gladly did we each say to the other, "Let us go to the house of the Lord!" For nearly three years had we lived here without the blessing of a public service of praise and thanksgiving.

We regarded this commencement as an omen of better times, and our little "sewing-society" worked with renewed industry, to raise a fund Which might be available hereafter in securing the permanent services of a missionary.
* * * * * Not long after this, on a fine spring morning, as we were seated at breakfast, a party of Indians entered the parlor, and came to the door of the room where we were.

Two of them passed through, and went out upon a small portico--the third remained standing in the door-way at which he had at first appeared.

He was nearly opposite me, and as I raised my eyes, spite of his change of dress, and the paint with which he was covered, I at once recognized him.
I continued to pour the coffee, and, as I did so, I remarked to my husband, "The one behind you, with whom you are speaking, is one of the escaped prisoners." Without turning his head, Mr.Kinzie continued to listen to all the directions they were giving him about the repairing of their guns, traps, etc., which they wished to leave with the blacksmith.

As they went on, he carelessly turned towards the parlor door, and replied to the one speaking to him.