CHAPTER XXII. ANNA--WE LEAVE FOR SAN JOSE. One evening, during the temporary absence of Lucy (on a few days' visit with friends), Sister Taylor, matron of the Door of Hope, home for girls, and I were invited by Brother Trotter of the Rescue Mission, then situated on Main Street near St. Elmo Hotel, to take charge of the meeting. When the invitation to seek the Savior was given, the altar filled with many mothers' boys, both young and old, and in all sorts of condition--semi-intoxicated, ragged, dirty, etc. (Reader, I have seen this sight scores of times in similar places.) Several workers joined us on the platform in aiding the seekers. As I was kneeling with my autoharp lying across my lap and my eyes closed, I inadvertently opened them. Out at the open door, about forty feet away, stood a throng of observers, amongst them a girl. Never did I so long to leave the platform, but I feared that an interruption might mean disastrous results to both workers and seekers. Soon the meeting gloriously closed, the doors were shut, and we were hurrying home. As I walked up the street with Sister Taylor and presently stood waiting with her for her approaching car, my lodging being in close proximity, I told her of my seeing that girl by the door and of my longing to have obeyed the impulse to go and speak to the stranger. Sister Taylor comforted me with the assurance of God's never-failing response to the prayer of faith for even the unknown, and urged me to pray for the girl. I replied that it would have been infinitely more satisfactory to have dealt with her face to face. Suddenly some one gently touched me on the shoulder. Turning about, I beheld a tall, pretty, but weary-looking young woman. It was the girl whom I had noticed in that open doorway. "May I speak to you a moment?" she asked. "Yes, dear, gladly! I was wishing I might only meet you, for I saw you looking into the mission just now. Come with me to my room," and I placed my arm through hers. "No, no!" she replied, "you wouldn't want my kind to visit you there." "Indeed, I would, and do, dear child, so come along. Good night, Sister Taylor. Remember us in your prayers." ... It was nearly two o'clock in the morning, and Anna had told me her story--her sad, sad story. Girls, you ought to hear it; so presently I'm going to relate it for your benefit, but first I want you to know that before we left my room, she had surrendered her future to her loving Savior. Before we were off of our knees, she, with the tears in her eyes, suddenly exclaimed: "Oh! I quite forgot, I quite forgot. Let's go quickly. Poor Flora, my chum, is awful sick, and I came out to hunt her friend and take her some medicine." We hurried away. * * * * * There lay a dark-haired girl moaning and gaping for breath. She managed to inquire: "Who's this, Anna? Who've you brought with you?" Soon I was reassuring the poor sufferer, whilst endeavoring to make her more comfortable.