ONE beautiful Sunday afternoon, Wen Hsin, a Chinese girl, lay dying in our Peking school. We knew that she must soon go, and, as is the custom in China, she was bathed and dressed in her graveclothes. Her glossy black hair was knotted on the top of her head with bright red cord. She wore a dark blue garment with a bit of bright trimming down the edge; snowy stockings and embroidered slippers were on her feet. Her white hands were folded peacefully, and she lay so calm we knew she was resting in the arms of Jesus. It was the hour of the Sunday school. They knew in the chapel that she was dying, and through the open window we could hear them singing, “There's a land that is fairer than day.” The busy little clock on the square red table kept on ticking, ticking, until the school was dismissed, and many of her schoolmates gathered sorrowfully around the brick bed on which the dying girl lay. Several of her old friends came in from the neighborhood. None of them had ever seen a Christian die before, and they gazed with wonder upon the peaceful girl, and went back to their homes with the wondrous news that Wen Hsin lay dying and was not afraid. Somebody in America had given thirty dollars a year to support her in a Christian school. As she found how precious it was to have the dear Lord Jesus go with her through “the dark valley and the shadow,” she was thinking of them, the kind friends so far away, who had done so much for her. I said to her, “Wen Hsin, do you want anything?” “I—want—to—write—a—letter.” “O, you are too weak! What is it you want to say? Tell me, and I will write it for you.” Gathering up all the strength she had left, she gasped it out in her weakness, a word at a time:— “I—want—to—tell—my—American—friends—they—did—not—spend—their—money—in—vain—for—me.” Soon she had closed her black eyes in death, but she had sent her precious message to cheer and encourage the home workers in the mission cause.—World-wide Missions.