On a Good Friday, I saw him in prison for the last time. Very cheerily he greeted me with the news of his approaching release and promised he would come to our office the first hour of his arrival in New York. On my engagement list I entered the initials of his name, that when the day came, we might watch for his arrival. The morning hours passed; we thought some slight delay had arisen. The afternoon went by, still he did not come. Very reluctantly we closed our desks and went home. The next day we waited and watched and still no news. I suppose if I had had any "Job's comforters," on my little staff, they would have suggested to me that the first saloon had proved too much for him, and that our returning wanderer had most likely drowned all his good resolves in the same stuff that had been his undoing in the past. Fortunately we were all of us workers on the sunny side of the street and evil shadows were not hunted up to cloud our confidence. We felt sure all was well, and the mail four days later told the story. He explained how sorry he was not to report at headquarters, but on reaching New York his brother had met him with the news of the mother's illness and he hurried at once to her side. The next day he had found work and he added, "Now, Little Mother, I fear I shall not be able to see you, for I must work every day for my mother's sake, for you know what I have promised. I want to build up a home for her and make up for the sorrow I have caused her in the past." Some days later the mother came herself to tell me of her boy's home-coming, and the tears that fell now were tears of joy. The most pathetic part of the story to me was this; she said that, as the time grew near for his home-coming, the old dread crept into her heart. She had so often watched for him, not knowing in what condition he might return, or whether he would come at all, that the habit of fear triumphed over her faith, and though his letters had been so different and his promises seemed so earnest, her heart misgave her. She said, "What do you think my boy did? The very first thing he went to the telegraph office and sent me this message, 'Don't worry, mother, I am coming.'"--Ah, God grant that we may help to flash that message to the hundreds of sorrowing mothers whose hearts turn anxiously to those opening prison doors! Are not all the efforts, all the toils, all the dollars expended well worth while to bring back brightness and comfort to these hearts, that for so long have sat in the gloom of the most tragic bereavement? As the months passed, good news came to me of this happy family. The young man joined the church in the village where his mother had long been a respected Christian. He became attached to temperance work, and by his warnings many other young men were induced to take the pledge. He and his brother went into business; they prospered, and at last they fulfilled his ambition, building with their own hands the home that they had promised to their