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Seventy-five souls were sheltered under the roof of Whitman's mission, orphans, and sick immigrants, who had found here an asylum for the winter. Day and night, like an angel of mercy, Mrs. Whitman passed from couch to couch. Her face was thin and her cheeks white with long and incessant watchings and labors with the sick.

"Doctor, I have my doubts," said Spalding, "about your turning your house into a hospital."

"I have no doubts about it," answered the doctor, " Looking after the immigrants is a part of my mission. That 's what I 'm here for."

"I hear that the priests are going to open a mission near you," said Spalding.

"I know it," answered the irritated doctor. "They want to buy this mission."

Just then a messenger reined up at the gate. "There is sickness at the lodges of Five Crows and Tauitau," he said. "They want you."

"I will come," said Dr. Whitman. It was thirty miles to the Umatilla.

"I will go with you," said Spalding.

They set off about sundown, and rode all night in a heavy rain. The Indian cocks were crowing when, drenched and chill, they reached the lodge of Sticcas in a low ravine. Sticcas spread fresh blankets and piled fuel on the lodge-fire. The missionaries lay down and slept till dawn.

The morning hymn of worship broke their slumbers. There was an appetizing breakfast of potatoes, squash, fresh beef, and wheat-bread baked by Sticcas' wife, taught by Mrs. Whitman. There was deathly silence in the lodge and in the village. After breakfast Dr. Whitman went over the Umatilla to the lodges of Fi