The girl's mother died when she was a babe. The father (not then a
saloon man) sent her to New York to be raised by her aunt. When old
enough she was placed in school. The aunt died. She was removed to
another school, and there she remained until called for by her father,
who all these years had been her provider. He brought her to San
Francisco, where he now kept a dive and dance-hall. She being a rather
timid girl, it can be readily understood why she submitted to his
authority and tyranny.

My mind now reverts to two of the soldier boys, returned from the
Philippines and seated one night in one of those places where we were
permitted to work and also to sing. Toward the close of the song,

Can a boy forget his mother's prayer,
When he has wandered God knows where?

I discovered them with their arms about each other's shoulders and both
with the tears silently coursing down their cheeks. Setting my
instrument on one side and remembering my own dear son, the daily
object of my prayers, I essayed, in earnest, gentle tones, to admonish
them. Both acknowledged having been carefully reared by Christian
mothers, one of whom was dead. Had they been my own, I could not have
more earnestly pleaded with them. In consequence of my admonition they
soon took their departure, promising as they did so never again to
cross the threshold of any place where they would be ashamed to have
their mothers find them, and also to seek once more their neglected
Savior. Both were soon reclaimed; for I had the pleasure of meeting
them later in a house of worship on the Army's camp-grounds, at the
Presidio.