When girls through no real fault of their own get into such an awful scrape as Millie and I were so unfortunate as to get into, but thank God, were rescued from, ... what kind of Christians can they, must they be, who will do their utmost to help still further crush us by talking all over the town about what happened, and everybody putting their own construction on what they hear, then giving us the cold shoulder. Millie is at home. She's sick from the awful effects of it yet, and I'm trying to earn an honest living, but it's no use. My so-called friends won't give me a chance. I've about made up my mind I might as well have the game as the name, so by the time you receive this, I shall probably be with Miss---- at her house in C----, for I'm sure she will be kinder than the folks here. I don't suppose they've meant to harm us, but just because they love to talk they've settled it for us forever. I forgive them, but it's no use to try to be good any longer. Don't think I forget you or your kindness, and I will always love you no matter what becomes of me. Gratefully yours, Reba ----. "Bessie! Bessie! what shall I do? what must I do?" I cried, wringing my hands and handing her the letter to read. Hurriedly reading it, she quickly said, "Let us pray." Immediately suiting the action to the word, she as briefly as possible asked the Lord for speedy help. It came--an instantaneous impression to telephone to the hotel at S---- where Reba had been employed. "Keep on, Bessie, keep on praying," I requested as I arose from my knees and hastened into the next room, took down the receiver, called for the long-distance operator, asked for my party, and emphatically declared it to be a matter of life and death requiring immediate service. Shortly I was talking to the landlady of the N----- J----- Hotel, who told me that Reba was still under her roof, but was expecting to leave for San Francisco on the next train. "Please call her to the 'phone," I said, and very soon I heard Reba's voice. "Hello; who wants me?" she said. "Mother Roberts, Reba dear," I replied. "Stay where you are. I am coming on the next train" "But I'm going on the next one to San Francisco I can't; my trunk is at the depot." "Reba, you _must_ wait till I come, dear. I've some good news for you." "Very well; I'll wait. Fortunately, I haven't bought my ticket yet." "Good-by," I gladly said. "Meet me." There was barely time to make the next train; but, as usual, the Lord (bless his dear name forever!) favored me. I reached S----- at 7:30 P.M. On our way to the Hotel Reba whispered, "Mother Roberts, will you occupy my room with me tonight? I want to have a long, long talk and it's the quietest part of the house, up on the third floor."