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Grey, Zane, 1872-1939

"The Spirit of the Border"

Come; take a peep in here.
This is where we preach in the evenings and during inclement
weather. On pleasant days we use the maple grove yonder."
Jim and the others looked in at the door of the large log structure.
They saw an immense room, the floor covered with benches, and a
raised platform at one end. A few windows let in the light. Spacious
and barn-like was this apartment; but undoubtedly, seen through the
beaming eyes of the missionary, it was a grand amphitheater for
worship. The hard-packed clay floor was velvet carpet; the rude
seats soft as eiderdown; the platform with its white-oak cross, an
altar of marble and gold.
"This is one of our shops," said Mr. Zeisberger, leading them to a
cabin. "Here we make brooms, harness for the horses, farming
implements--everything useful that we can. We have a forge here.
Behold an Indian blacksmith!"
The interior of the large cabin presented a scene of bustling
activity. Twenty or more Indians bent their backs in earnest
employment. In one corner a savage stood holding a piece of red-hot
iron on an anvil, while a brawny brave wielded a sledge-hammer. The
sparks flew; the anvil rang. In another corner a circle of braves
sat around a pile of dried grass and flags. They were twisting and
fashioning these materials into baskets.


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