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Also, the work of Miss Drexel's missionaries promises to be more permanent than that to the Hurons and Algonquins of Quebec. They are not trying to turn Indians into white men and women at this mission. They are leaving them Indians with the leaven of a new grace working in their hearts. The Navajos are to-day 22,000 strong, and on the increase.
If we had been a party of men, we should probably have been put up at either the Franciscan Mission, or Day's Ranch; but being women we were conducted a mile farther down the arroyo to Miss Drexel's Mission School for Indian boys and girls.
Not so did Marmon and Pratt sway the Indians at Laguna, when the Pueblos there were persuaded to send their children to Carlisle; and Miss Drexel's Mission has never yet issued peremptory orders for children to come to school; but the martinet mandate went forth.
Almost, but not quite, did the car stop, then, gathering way, with the others running alongside and shoving, it emerged on the hard road. While they tossed the robes and coats and Miss Drexel's skirt into the bottom of the car and got Mrs. Morgan on board, Davies overtook them. "Down on the bottom! all of you!" he shouted, as he gained the running board and the machine sprang away.
She was a palatial cruising yacht of twelve hundred tons' burden, built somewhat on the lines of Drexel's La Margharita, but with less width of funnel. It was two o'clock in the afternoon when they went on board; all the luggage had arrived, steam was up, the port arrangements had been made, and Berselius determined to start at once. Maxine kissed him, then she turned to Adams. "Bon voyage."
The first of our war-ships to be sunk by a submarine was the naval patrol gun-boat Alcedo, which was torpedoed shortly before 2 o'clock on the morning of November 5, 1917, almost exactly seven months after we entered the war. She was formerly G. W. Childs Drexel's yacht Alcedo, and Anthony J. Drexel Paul, an officer in the Naval Reserve, was on her at the time.
"He'll lose a year's crop now on account of this mix-up." "Oh, look what I've found!" Miss Drexel called from the lead. "First machine that ever tackled this road," was young Drexel's judgment, as they halted to stare at the tire-tracks. "But look at the tracks," his sister urged. "The machine must have come right out of the bananas and climbed the bank."
Next morning, when Mother Josephine, of Miss Drexel's Mission School, drove us back to the Franciscan's house, we saw proofs of a second volume on the Navajos, which Father Berrard is issuing; a combined glossary and dictionary of information on tribal customs and arts and crafts and legends and religion; a work of which a French academician would be more than proud.
"Dress for rough travel, and don't stop for any frills," Wemple called around the corner of Miss Drexel's screened sleeping porch. "Not a wash, nothing," Davies supplemented grimly, as he shook hands with Charley Drexel, who yawned and slippered up to them in pajamas. "Where are those horses, Charley? Still alive?"
In the group round one of the windows a laugh started and spread everywhere except to seven of the twelve young women and to those near Scarborough THEY looked frightened. "I expected Mr. Drexel's answer," began Scarborough. "Before you can sell Peaks of Progress each of you must be convinced that it's a book he himself would buy. And I see you've not even read it.