He arrived at night. He found himself in a new world, a world of
narrow streets, of hurrying people, of house after house, but in none
of them a home for him. They would not let him sit in the station all
night, as he had planned to do in his boyish inexperience, and he
had no money, for money was a scarce article in the Conwell home. He
wandered up one street and down another till finally he came to the
water. Footsore and hungry, he crawled into a big empty cask lying on
Long Wharf, ate the last bit of bread and meat in his bundle, and went
to sleep.

The next day was Sunday, not a day to find work, and he faced a very
sure famine. He began again his walk of the streets. It was on
toward noon when he noticed crowds of children hurrying into a large
building. He stood and watched them wistfully. They made him think
of his brother and sister at home. Suddenly an overwhelming longing
seized him to be back again in the sheltering farmhouse, to see his
father, hear his mother's loving voice, feel his sister's hand in his.
Perhaps it was his forlorn expression that attracted the attention of
a gentleman passing into the building. He stopped, asked if he would
not like to go in; and then taking him by the hand led him in with the
others. It was Deacon George W. Chipman, of Tremont Temple, and ever
afterwards Russell Conwell's friend. Many, many years later, the boy,
become a man, came back to this church, organized and conducted one of
the largest and most popular Sunday School classes that famous church
has ever known.

After Sunday School, Deacon Chipman and Russell "talked things over."
The Deacon, amused and impressed by the original mind of the country
boy, persuaded him to go home, and the next morning put him on the