"Sister Kauffman, I can stand this awful strain no longer," I said. "Perhaps God has sent in food to the girls during our absence. Let us try to get back home." We could not telephone. That would mean a nickel, and we didn't have it. "Once more, dear, once more we'll try," replied courageous Sister Kauffman. So we ascended a long flight of stairs, only to find the door fast locked. Bless her noble soul! she was just as tired, weak, and hungry as I, but infinitely less selfish. As we came out on the sidewalk, she suddenly remembered one who had some time previously promised help whenever she happened in that vicinity again. It was but half a block distant. Thither we dragged our weary bodies. When we reached the top of that stairway, a gentleman was just in the act of locking a door. His greeting was: "Well, well, Sister Kauffman, how do you do, and how are all your family? You're just in time. I was about to go home. Glad to make your acquaintance, Sister Roberts. Ladies, come in a moment and rest after your hard climb." He handed a piece of money (five dollars) to Sister Kauffman, remarking as he did so that he had been saving it for her several days. Then something happened--something totally unlooked for by any of us three. Sister Kauffman and I burst into tears and wept unrestrainedly for several minutes, whilst the kind friend retired, I suppose, to a remote corner of the large room. Presently, when we had become somewhat calm, we told him what we had endured since early morning. It was not at all strange (now was it?) that this good-hearted man, during our short recital, resorted to frequent use of his handkerchief. But it was now fast growing dark, and we had to hurry. Many samples of canned goods were upon the shelves. (This was a wholesale commission merchant's office.) He filled my net shopping-bag, made up another package, then forth we went with smiling faces and happy hearts. Presently he helped us on to our car, then left us. "Oh! Sister Roberts dear, we'll have to break our five dollars to pay our car fare," said Sister Kauffman. When the conductor came our way and she inquired whether he had change for five, he answered, "Your fares are paid." God bless that noble-hearted, thoughtful gentleman. I do not remember his name, but I do hope he will read or hear of this. Whether he does or not, the generous deed is, I feel sure, recorded to his credit in heaven. When we turned the corner of our street, some of the family, disregarding the rules, rushed out to greet us and to help us in with our load. Soon our five dollars was purchasing bread, potatoes, and other things for an immediate meal, to which we all quickly sat down, and, after reverently thanking our heavenly Father ate--shall I say?--yes, _ravenously_.