There has been an interesting revival at Ponca Church, Nebraska, under the direction of Rev. James Garvie, our Indian pastor.

The friends who attended the annual meeting of the Association at Lowell will remember Mr. Garvie very pleasantly, as he was one of the speakers on that occasion. He is as successful in the great work which comes to him, as the pastor of one of our churches on the prairie, as he was in telling the story of the work among his people to Eastern congregations.

Even the building of a barn at the prairie mission may be turned to the spiritual advantage of the Indian people, as is proved by the experience of Miss Mary P. Lord at Flying By's Village, N. D. The following extract, from a recent letter of hers, tells the story most interestingly. Frank and Daisy are her horses, who are really four-footed missionaries. Miss Lord writes: "On Sunday the ponies took me twelve miles to conduct service at Oak Creek Sub-Agency, where my people were gathered for the Monday morning issue of rations. Service over at noon, a drink of water and a feed of grain, and then two hours and a half later we were twenty miles away to attend afternoon service at Little-Eagle's village, where I played the organ for the English singing of the boarding-school children there. Yesterday they brought me to Fort Yates, thirty miles."

HUT AND HEAVEN.

Three years ago in our visit to the Indian homes, we found Netkuschiripas (Little Eagle) on his bed unable to get out of the house. Mary, his wife, washed for white people, hoed corn, and tenderly cared for him. He told me he believed in Jesus and would join us as soon as he could come out. It did not seem that he ever would get better then, but his faith put new life into his body, and two years and a half ago he was baptized in church, and got about to do a little work now and then. This fall his working days came to an end. He could only lie on his bed or sit in the sun at the door. Mary had to haul the firewood and nurse him, as well as work out. For a while they stayed at a neighbor's house, but an old Indian woman insisted that he should wear his beads and other heathen adornments. He refused to do so, saying that now he was a different person. As this annoyance was kept up he and Mary left and stayed by themselves in a dug-out on the south side of a bank on the edge of a willow bottom. His bed was a few boards with a straw mattress and a few quilts. The room was lighted by a single sash—the rude shelter of two of God's children. When he felt himself sinking, he said: I do not know what God's will for me is, but whatever it is I am ready. I have no fears. The day before he died he said: I have one heart. I trust only in Jesus; I have said this to you often. We laid him away just after the morning meeting last Sunday. This is not extraordinary; we are glad so many are like John and Mary. Twice the gates have opened this winter for us, and now part of our church gather above and part here. Five more are to confess their faith at the next communion. Pray for these little ones.