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This was the morning family service; in the afternoon there was a large attendance of the Indians. The Doctor led the service, and for the opening hymn selected the same one sung in the morning, and the little girl's sweet childish voice chimed in beautifully with the rich soprano of her mother. Mrs. Whitman writes, "This was the last we ever heard her sing." I never hear "Rock of Ages," but it calls to mind little Clarissa, and her wilderness home, where the angelic messengers hovered even then, to bear the dear child, in the words of her song, "to worlds unknown."

After the service Mrs. Whitman was busy in the preparation of the evening meal for her large family; the little child was here and there, busy as usual, and had not been missed until five minutes before the alarm was given, and a hurried search made in every direction, with calls that were unanswered. They had a path which led to the Walla Walla River, sixty or more yards away, and a platform built out, so that pure water could be