Intense silence reigned whilst she related the wonderful story of her conversion and sanctification. There was not a dry eye present. Then she gave an invitation. Without one exception all responded and then knelt. She prayed--oh! how she prayed! and some of the women wet the boards with their tears whilst they, too, called upon Callie's Savior for pardon and mercy. How I wish we might have stayed there the remainder of the day! but we could not, for my time was limited. Feelingly and reluctantly we said our "farewells," promising to come at some future time if God so willed. Before we left, they all lovingly inquired for Lucy, sending her many kind messages of love and remembrance. When we returned to Mrs. Kincaid's quarters, she inquired if I should like to see a photo of Callie as she formerly looked? "Indeed, I would," I replied. Well, to this day I do not wonder at their failure to recognize her. _In that picture she looked like a dirty, emaciated, old vagabond._ This is the best I can do in the way of description, dear reader. I wish I had a copy of her "Before and After" to put in this book. You would be sure to say, "Mother Roberts did not exaggerate one iota." If any of you know Mrs. Kincaid, go to her and ask her whether she won't please show it to you.... We were soon on the street-car, and then downtown, where I quickly transacted my business, after which I was once more at Callie's disposal. I followed her to a place on the south of Market Street, to a building which resembled a deserted, tumble-down stable or blacksmith's shop plastered with old hand-bills and posters. There were some dirty old window-frames in the second story, but I do not believe there was one whole pane of glass left. "This is the place, Mother Roberts," said Callie. "Surely no human beings dwell in such a terrible place as this, Callie," I replied. "You come with me and see for yourself," she rejoined. "Don't you remember what I told you? I said I would take you to a place you didn't dream existed. This is the one."