Well, Oregon can not claim you all the time. Some time you will feel weary and overworked--some time you will need rest--and when you do, just remember that there is a little green and flowery spot along the railway down in California--a place where the door stands always open, and where sincere friends are always waiting to welcome you--and--come home. Sincerely your friends. Ida H. Chittenden. T. Chittenden. I stopped off at several places: at San Jose and San Francisco, to visit the rescue homes and dear friends, particularly dear Sister Kauffman, whose house had been dynamited and destroyed at the time of the fire following the earthquake, but who still sheltered many a girl in temporary cottages on the land where the home had once stood; next Berkeley, where lives my hospitable friend, Mrs. J. T. Anderson, whose beautiful home I enjoy the freedom of whenever in her neighborhood; then Sacramento, to spend one night with dear Mrs. Trefren, already referred to as one of my warmest friends; then Redding, my old home, where I rescued little Rosa, and which was the scene of many battles and victories in the name of the Lord. At this latter place there awaited me a royal reception from my many former friends and associates. It had been more than a decade since I had held up on the rear platform of the train that Bible with its blessed parting message from Gal. 6:9. All through the interval the Master had graciously permitted me to sow and to reap. Though there had been much more sowing than reaping, yet there had not been a great deal of fainting, for the grace of God had been all sufficient. Hallelujah! Before I had been many days in Portland, I received a telegram telling of the death of Mr. Roberts. (Reader, I have refrained from stating in this book under what circumstances and at what time Mr. Roberts came back into my life, simply because that matter has no direct reference to the title of the book and also because it recalls too much pain and distress of a private nature. This I will say: With the other duties an added heavy cross was mine, owing to his mental and physical condition--a cross which, I regret to say, I did not always bear as patiently or as cheerfully as I might have borne it. It lasted from February, 1905, to November, 1009.) A caved-in tunnel near the State line prohibited my return, but Pastor Harper, of San Jose, and other kind friends relieved me of all final responsibilities regarding my late husband.