One day a telephone call came to us from the city and county hospital,
situated in a suburb known as The Potrero, inquiring if we had room for
a delicate young mother with her three-weeks-old babe. They informed us
that her time as a patient had expired and, moreover, that they had
just been quarantined for smallpox, but that she had as yet suffered no
exposure. The workers were quickly consulted, also a few trusted
converted girls, and together we knelt in prayer and then consulted
God's Word. Praise his name! we opened it on the ninety-first Psalm.
What better assurance than in verses 10, 11, and 12?

Soon we were welcoming one of the most forlorn specimens of humanity
the home had ever received. Jack, the delicate-looking baby, had the
facial expression of a tiny old man, but oh! such beautiful eyes! We
realized that both would require very tender care for some time to
come. When Mary became able to work, she rendered valuable service, for
she liked to cook and was efficient and economical. Whilst she was thus
occupied, her babe was being well cared for in the nursery.

Several months passed by, during which every means was resorted to in
order to help Mary learn to seek and find her Savior, but all without
avail.

Little Jack, never very strong, was taken seriously ill and soon, from
the waist down, was paralyzed. Mary now relinquished all other duties
in order to nurse her sick treasure. We never witnessed greater love
and devotion. For ten days before he died, she did not leave his
bedside one moment longer than necessary, never changed her clothes,
excepting once, and never lay down to sleep. On more than one occasion
it became my privilege to share the night vigils, for which she was
sincerely grateful. How my heart yearned for this poor, hopeless