Now abideth faith, hope, love, these three; and the greatest of
these is love.--_Saint Paul_.
When the "teacher" first went among the Indians at Fort Hall her
reception was neither cordial nor cold, for she was not received at
all. She had not been invited and she was not welcome. For the
first eighteen months after reaching the fort she could often hear
in the nighttime the movement of a moccasin, as some tired Indian
spy changed his cramped position, for she was religiously watched
and irreligiously suspected. They could not understand why she, an
unmarried white woman, should leave her home and spend time among
them.
The braves strode by her in sullen silence, eloquently impressing
their contumelious hauteur. The no less stolid squaws, who observe
everything and see nothing, disdainfully covered their faces with
their blankets or looked in silence in the opposite direction when
the teacher met them or lifted the tent-flap.
After a long time she won her way with some of the wee ones, and thus
touched the hearts of the mothers, through whom she made a road broad
and wide into the affections of the tribe. They trusted her with the
secrets of the people, and she was at home in every teepee in the
reservation. Gathering the girls together, she taught them the
beautiful words of the Bible, and for many years she lived, loved, and
labored there.
Mary Muskrat was one of the Bannock girls in the mission school. The
little shrinking, more-than-half-wild papoose of the desert had been
toilsomely but surely trained by the teacher, that bravest of little
women.
Pulmonary consumption is the bane of the civilized Indians. It carries
them off in multitudes. Despite their outdoor living, it seems that
few, if any, ever recover from an attack. The dread disease had
fastened itself upon Mary and she was sick unto death. Her little
shack was no fit place for a living person, and here was one dying.
Frequent visits from her teacher afforded the dying maiden her only
relief. Once, after watching her through a severe paroxysm of
coughing, it seemed that life had gone completely. Removing the
squalid bunch of rags which served as a pillow, and lowering the head,
the devoted teacher stood watching the supposed lifeless form. But she
saw the lips moving, and, bending low, she heard the dying girl
whisper, "What time I am afraid I will trust in Thee." Continuing, she
breathed out, "The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.... Yea,
though I walk through the valley and the shadow of death, I will fear
no evil." Pausing, while the heart of the white woman was praising God
for his goodness to the dusky child, Mary opened her beautiful eyes,
and, seeing her protectress and benefactress standing there, said, "O,
dear teacher, the Lord is my shepherd."
Then the Shepherd came and took her to dwell in the house of the Lord
forever.