p. 15 | The Work in Alaska by ELLA I. MALLORY

Review and Herald Publishing Association · Takoma Park Station, Washington, D. C. · Mar 18, 1909

The Work in Alaska

By ELLA I. MALLORY

A few Sabbaths ago I was called upon to conduct a funeral service. Up in the mountains a young man had died suddenly of heart failure, and his friends brought the remains to town, and sent for me, saying they wanted a Christian burial. The young man was a Lutheran. I walked to the cemetery, and came back just as the sun was setting. I felt thankful to be able to read, sing, and pray before a large audience of people who would not go to a meeting, and would hear God's Word in no other way. I read the whole of the fifteenth chapter of First Corinthians.

Sometimes it gets very cold here in the winter, when the day is mostly dark, and the few short hours of sunlight hardly penetrate the frost. When it is not too cold, it snows almost constantly. We can look for anywhere from six inches to four feet in a single storm. Down it comes, so silently, not a sound for weeks.

Before the deep snow comes, the snow does not pack. It shakes off from one's clothes as so much flour. It is dry, and the roads have to be broken. They are hard just where traveled; but if the horse gets off the road an inch, down he goes. The horses here are trained, and they know they can not get out, so they wait patiently till they are unhitched and dug out; then they seem as glad as the people are to get back on the trail.

This is the kind of road I have traveled over on foot. I had to watch every step I took for fear I would slide off the trail into deep snow. If this had happened, no one would have found me until spring. I have put out thousands of papers in this country under just such conditions.

The summers here are beautiful. The days are long, and the sun shines almost day and night. The grass and flowers and wild fruits grow in abundance. Potatoes, cabbages, carrots, and other vegetables are easily raised, but are sold at an exorbitant price, there being so few who care to do anything but mine. Potatoes are never less than sevenpence halfpenny a pound, and before spring they sell for two shillings a pound.

ELLA I. MALLORY.