(Before I give an account of our experiences, please allow me to relate an incident that occurred on the train. In a seat almost parallel with the one we occupied sat two women, one of whom was richly dressed. She repeatedly looked my way. Her face seemed familiar. Presently I ventured to accost her with that fact. She smilingly replied: "Of course it is. I'm ---- ----. You came to my house in Santa Cruz dressed in a Salvation Army bonnet. If it hadn't have been for that, you would never have got in. One of my girls left because of what you said and did that day. I'll be glad to have you call. I always want to help save a girl if I can. Perhaps you can persuade her sister." Hallelujah! "It came to pass" less than a month later.) The gate-keeper passed us into the grounds, and soon I was being warmly greeted by Mrs. Kincaid. Presently I inquired if she recognized my companion. She smilingly shook her head. "You've met her many times, Mrs. Kincaid," I said. She guessed any but the right person. Finally she said slowly: "It might be Callie----; but she was nothing but a bag of bones; as forlorn-looking a specimen of humanity as I ever looked upon, whereas this woman is fine-looking, robust, and has a splendid expression. Surely it can't be Callie!" "But it is Callie. Look!" And Callie proved her identity by pulling up her sleeve--convincing evidence beyond a doubt. Never did I see matron more delighted. Presently, following some rapid questions and answers, she said, "How would you like to surprise your former companions, Callie?" "Just what I was hoping for, Mrs. Kincaid," Callie answered. "Very well; I'll have all of them called into the large dormitory. You wait here a few minutes." There was an enthusiastic welcome for me, but no one recognized my companion--_no, not one_. She stood beside me, speechless and trembling. Finally I said: "Speak to them, dear." "I can't," she whispered, and the tears were in her eyes. "Girls, I've brought some one with me today whom you all know and know well, but I see you do not recognize her." (A long silence.) "Who is she?" some one asked. (Another long silence.) "Show them who you are, Callie." "Callie? Callie ----? Surely not, Mother Roberts. She was," etc., etc. But she was showing them; choking down her sobs of joy, or rather, trying to, as she rolled up her sleeves to convince them. Even so, they found it very difficult to believe, very, very difficult. I gladly retired to a remote part of the dormitory, a grateful observer temporarily forgotten, whilst Callie was being questioned and overhauled by about seventy delighted women and girls. They went into raptures of joy, they shouted, they wept, they hugged and kissed her, until she was obliged to say, "Sit down. I want to talk to you. Do, please."