“October 7th. (To Miss Ethel Percival.)—It was too bad to put you all off last mail with a p.c., wasn’t it? But really I could not help it. I was so rushed, and in consequence, of course, headachy. On the Sunday Uncle was very poorly, and I had to take service. He got better, and managed to finish a classroom he was putting up with iron walls and grass roof. It is divided by a partition, and we moved into it on Wednesday. We had just got in, thinking to get everything in readiness for the visit of the Trustees on Friday, when Mr. Moon came back from Matadi, as we expected, and with him Mr. Lowrie, from Mabaya, on his way home. We were very pleased to see him, but of course there had to be a fly round to get him bed, ‘chop,’ &c. Then just in the middle of the stir Daniel arrived from Zombo, bringing Sandy! He had to be petted and comforted after his long journey. Mr. L. went off early the next day, and just as I was making some cakes in readiness for the day following, in walked Mr. Frame! Another fly round! Then on Friday there was, of course, a big dinner to prepare for night. They all arrived by midday train, i.e., about half-past two, Mr. and Mrs. Bain, Mr. Phillips, and Dr. Sims.... As my cook is so new, I had to look after everything myself, so that I could not enjoy their company as I should have liked to do. Mrs. Bain is a Swede, and very pleasant. Dr. Sims is most kind. I don’t know what we should do without him.... I can also consult him about the medical work which I have begun here. I was forced to it. We have so many workmen with us, and lots of other people come as well. I have only begun regularly to-day. My garden is doing so well, and looks so pretty; I wish you could see it.... You would love the pretty little chicks we have now, such a lot of them. Four broods are out, and two other hens and the duck sitting. Yesterday men arrived from Kibokolo with sixty fowls; so you see we have plenty of fresh ‘chop’, and do not need to fall back on tins, as we did at first. All food is much dearer than at Kibokolo or San Salvador. Uncle is awfully busy, and Mr. Moon, with the two houses. The roof of the office is just being put up. By the way, a day or two after I wrote to Mother, one of our men brought us a fine big fish from the river, which we enjoyed very much; but we have not seen any since.”
“November 18th. (To Miss Ethel Percival.)—It is just pouring with rain now, and after the frightful heat of the day the rain is quite a relief. Our house is going up fast. The office outbuilding is nearly finished, and to-day our two roll-top desks were unpacked so as to keep them from the white ants. The rest of the house has only a skeleton yet. It will be delightful when finished. I only wish our friends could see us in it.... The garden is not flourishing quite as well as it did; there is too much rain for it, and the insects are awful.”
“November 30th. (To Miss Beatrice Percival.)—Uncle is looking for a snake, a Boa, who came and paid us a visit last evening just as we were going to tea. Two hens were sitting on one nest. One was killed, the other they saved and transported to a place of safety, with her eggs, but in the night the silly thing went back to the place of peril and was killed by the snake. It was dark yesterday, and while the boys were getting a light the snake made off, and they cannot find it. But we know it is about, and are afraid it will kill more fowls, or the ducks. Did I tell you the duck had a family of fourteen? but there are only ten now. It is wonderful they have survived; but she is a splendid mother, and we should be sorry if anything happened to her, poor thing. The snakes are plentiful about here. Uncle has just returned, but can’t find the enemy. December 1st.—I am just waiting breakfast, 7.25 a.m. This is our twenty-second wedding day; just fancy! We have indeed much to be thankful for. Here we are quite well and very busy—both desirable things. I believe the ducks and fowls are all right this morning, so I suppose the Boa has gone elsewhere. The monkeys came the other night and eat up the maize which the girls had planted. They say there are crowds of them, but I have not seen them yet. I have told the boys and girls to let me know next time they appear.”
“December 2nd. (To Miss Taylor.)—”We are still in the classroom, into which we moved from our grass-house. Our permanent house is getting on, but the workmen are very slow and very stupid, and Tom cannot do as much here as in Kibokolo, the atmosphere is so different. I am thankful to say that for many weeks now we have all been quite well. It will be nice when we get into our new home and really begin the work of the Institute. But there is much to be done first, of all sorts.
“We thought of you all very much last week at the Sale time. I trust it was a great success. I am glad Mr. Parkinson was there.... I wonder where you are going to spend your Christmas. We expect to go down to Matadi on the Saturday before Christmas Day, remaining until the Wednesday. Mr. Phillips is marrying a very nice Swedish lady, a widow, and wishes Tom to tie the knot. We shall be alone probably on Christmas Day, as our American colleague, Mr. Moon, is going for a few days to his friends at Mbanza Manteka, as soon as we return.”
“December 2nd.—Thank you so much for the papers. There seem to be stirring times just now—what with the unemployed and the suffragists. The Government strikes me as a bit disappointing. ‘Put not your trust in princes’—nor in statesmen! That was a charming letter to Dr. Clifford from the Archbishop; I am very glad he wrote it. I hear they are starting Study Classes at Camden; I am very glad of that too.”
“December 16th.—It is pouring with rain and is very dark, as I have had to close the windows, or rather the shutters, and I have only half of the door open to let in some light. Tom is over at the new house getting work done inside, as they cannot go on with the roof. But part of it is up and the office, so he can be there to keep the men at work, which they think very hard. These people always go to sleep directly there is rain, and don’t think they ought to work. Seeing that it rains mostly half of every day now they would have a pretty easy time of it. Since I wrote last, we have both been ill again. We were in bed together for two or three days with fever; Tom with his usual gastritis, and I with a very bad head. It hindered things for a week. The boys and girls were very good. My cook did everything very nicely, and made us soup and arrowroot, and the biggest girl waited on us, so we got through. I was well enough just to say what we wanted and tell them how to do it. Mr. Moon kept things going on the station, and looked in and out.... We are expecting to go down to-morrow to Matadi to Mr. Phillips’s wedding. I hope we shall get there all right. The river is in flood they say, piers covered and trains running in water. It is an exceptionally wet season.”
“December 16th. (To Miss Beatrice Percival.)—You would have enjoyed the sight I had recently. At the back of our house at the bottom of a steep slope runs a stream, thickly wooded, and the other day the girls called me to see the monkeys. I had planted a little sweet maize as an experiment, and the girls saw a monkey come right up to within a few yards. When I went I had a fine view of big and little monkeys, regular ‘Banderlays,’ running up and down, in and out, among the great tree-branches. Uncle says they will have to be killed. But I can’t bear the idea. They do seem like distant relatives, don’t you think? Dear old Sandy is as sweet as ever. Mr. Moon is going to see to his feeding. He likes Sandy, as indeed does every one. I wonder how the servant is going on; I hope she won’t scoot after Christmas. It is such a comfort having a decent girl who can really do things. That book you sent Uncle by an American, Mr. Bradford, I like very much. But it does not go far enough. He is hardly evangelical, I should say. I like that of Rendel Harris immensely. I am reading now Mr. Grenfell’s Memoir, by Sir H. Johnston. It is very interesting, but hardly gives a portrait of the man. I expect Mr. Hawker’s will do that. This is more a series of pictures of the country, and the people and missions in general, to which the author is most sympathetic. You would like to read it, I think. Mr. Parkinson sent it to us.”
“Matadi, December 24th.—Your letters were so sad this time that I hardly know how to write to you, as I do not know in what circumstances this letter may find you, but I must write to wish you from us both very many happy returns of your birthday; and if this birthday is clouded by anxiety and trouble [occasioned by Mr. Hartland’s grave illness], may the new year upon which you are entering be bright with the sunshine of the Master’s presence, and even darkest days and nights be lightened by His countenance and His help. How I wish I could be with you! I am afraid your Christmas is a sad and anxious time. We have had a very queer Christmas, or rather shall have had when it is over. We came down here on Thursday last, this day week. On Sunday morning we proceeded to Boma by the French steamer. I was in bed with fever all the time there. Mr. Phillips was married by the Consul on Monday, and on Tuesday we came up in the gunboat. I was much better, and was able to attend the wedding here in the afternoon, and to help in getting the boys’ feast yesterday. To-day we have been talking and arranging all sorts of things and packing. To-morrow (25th) we expect to go up to Kimpese. I am pretty well, though not very strong yet.”
“January 4, 1909. (To Miss Ethel Percival.)—I have just read your letters over, but I am rather in a ‘wigwam’ as to who sent which books. We have dipped into them all, I think, and Uncle is much taken with ‘Lloyd George.’ But who sent me ‘The House of the Wolf’? Was it one of you? We got part of our mail here and part at Matadi: then with the wedding and my fever I have got regularly mixed. I was interested about your visit to Mrs. Taylor and should have loved all the dear animals. But I don’t believe you like them better than the babies! Of course some of those are not so interesting. As for Sandy, I think you might write that book. A good idea! I have no time or brains for it. My time seems taken up in all sorts of mundane ways—cooking, cutting out and machining clothes for my ten ‘children,’ looking after and growing (and eating) vegetables, nursing, and so on. Then in a few weeks’ time I shall have three or four hours’ teaching daily. I don’t know how all is to be squeezed in. Now I must leave off and go to the garden with one of my girls. I want to transplant some lettuces and sow some others. We have had lovely cabbages every day for some time; to-day we had beans again and tomatoes galore. Yes, I agree with you that I do not like the fowls having to be killed. Still, I think it much better for them than getting ill, and the hens and chicks are most interesting, to say nothing of the eggs, which are a great blessing. The ducks, too, are doing splendidly; the nine ducklings are growing fast. The old drake eats out of my hands, and the duck is most friendly, I shan’t make friends with those which have to be killed.