Before Harold and Harry lay a journey to the Meihinaco Indians. “I think we’re ready to put the baggage in the canoe, Harold.” “Yeah, we’re ready, but the canoes aren’t.” The missionaries stood on the riverbank and looked at each other. “Not a canoe in sight.” “Not one?” “What’s the big idea?” “Our own are gone, too.” “It’s not hard to guess why.” “They’re afraid to have us leave, and they’ve taken every canoe off so we’d be stranded here.” What a trick! Yet, who could blame them? A few days later, those of the tribe who had cheated death’s clutches stood on the riverside as the missionaries pushed away from the bank. The canoes were carrying away again those whom the Good Shepherd had sent. They had sought His sheep who were outside the fold. Who can say what the light of eternity shall reveal when the roll is called up yonder? Surely - “Some from every tribe and kindred will be there.”
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