her day's hard labor. In the morning, following earnest prayer with the
family gathered around that poorly supplied breakfast table, Sister
Kauffman and I started out to plead for absolute necessities. All
without exception commended this laudable work for the wandering girls,
but oh! the excuses. To this day I am amazed at many of them. In one
office was a portly, good-natured-looking gentleman puffing away at an
expensive cigar. (Reader, there was a time in my life when I enjoyed
the fragrance of a good one, for my husband was a smoker.) He declared
that he could not afford to assist _one cent's worth, that he was too
poor_. I dared to inquire gently how many cigars he smoked daily and if
they were not at least twenty-five cents for two. "Worse than that," he
proudly replied; "twenty cents apiece. But I only smoke half a dozen a
day at the most. I'm not an inveterate smoker; besides, it's my only
bad habit." When I told him that the cost of one day's smoking would
feed all our hungry family with a substantial meal, he turned his back
and began to get busy at his desk, and thus we considered ourselves
dismissed. There was excuse after excuse, refusal after refusal,
principally on the plea of there being so many appeals for charity
equally worthy and only a limitless pocket-book being requisite to meet
the many demands.

Noon-time discovered us in front of the _Call_ building, corner of
Market and Third Streets, both of us faint, weary, hungry, and slightly
discouraged, yet still hopeful. We stood on the street corner for a few
minutes holding each other's hands, and, unknown to the passers-by,
praying for strength of body and soul, imploring our heavenly Father to
renew our faith and courage. After resting a little while on one of the
stone seats near Lotta's Fountain, we once more began to toil up office
stairs or ride in elevators. At four o'clock we were near the city
front in the wholesale district. Still our faith was being tested, for