With scarcely an exception, "they all forsook me and fled" (Mark 14:50). I walked out of Beth-Adriel unattended--one of the loneliest beings on earth, yet in the "secret of His presence." This created considerable newspaper notoriety; but though my resignation had cost me all, my conscience was "void of offense toward God" (Acts 24:16). Soon I busied myself looking for other quarters. Even they were providential; for a friend met me in the post-office and proffered me her beautiful studio, then in disuse, for a merely nominal rent. There I rested and wrote for three months, intending that the proceeds of the book entitled "The Autobiography of an Autoharp" should start another home. But God willed otherwise, as you will presently learn. Was the rescue work that I so dearly loved, at a standstill? Oh, no indeed. Not for one day was I idle; neither was Beth-Adriel. The name "Beth-Adriel" was soon dropped, and the place became one of the chain of Florence Crittenton homes. I have often sent there poor unfortunates that needed a refuge of that nature. It was marvelous, the strength and the courage that the blessed Lord gave me during those trying days, even to the turning of my other cheek (Matt. 5:39). Soon I received unanimous reendorsement and much encouragement from the pastors' union and other sources; but I was advised to try for a training-school and home for orphans at the limit age (fourteen) and also for juvenile court dependents and delinquents. As is my custom, I inquired of the Lord. I received so strong an impression regarding "an ounce of prevention," etc, that I said, "Yea, Lord, it is worth one hundred thousand pounds of cure." In a short time beautiful and practical plans were drawn up and presented to me by one of San Jose's best architects, Wesley W. Hastings. Before this took place, however, several very striking incidents occurred, in a few of which, I feel sure, you will be interested. One was a case of casting bread upon the waters and finding of it after many days (Eccl. 11:1). Since my coming to San Jose it had been my habit to attend frequently the mission then situated on Fountain Alley. One night a poor, forlorn drunken man came to the altar and "got salvation." After rising from his knees, he said, "Lady, will you trust me with a quarter? I want to get a bath and bed and breakfast with it." "You can not get all three for a quarter," I replied. "Oh yes, I can," he said. "Down at the Salvation Army lodging-house for men." One of the workers whispered, "Don't do it He'll only spend it for liquor." He evidently surmised what the worker told me, for he quickly said: "Don't be afraid to trust me. I promise you you shall never regret it." I gave him what he had requested, and, in consequence, received rebukes from several of the other workers.