"Mother Roberts, you ought to have heard her laugh. It makes me shudder when I think of it, it was so cruel and fiendish! Presently she added: "'You can't leave till you've paid your debts. I'll have you arrested if you do.' "'How much do I owe you?' I asked. "'Pretty near six hundred dollars,' she said. "I nearly fainted with fright, but what was I to do? _I was afraid to die, or else I'd have ended it then and there...._ "That night I told a friend of mine, a railroad employee, and he said for me to keep a 'stiff upper lip,' and he'd get me out of there next trip; so I kept my own counsel, and Madam concluded I'd decided to stay where I was and make the best of it. She didn't know I was counting the hours for three days, until my friend got back. "When he came, he advised me to play drunk, and to go out with him to dinner. He said I need never go back; he'd take me with him on his train when it went out that night. "'What about my debt?' I asked him. "'Debt nothing!" he said. 'She can't have you arrested. She can't collect one cent of a debt like _that_. Don't take any clothes, for fear she'll suspect.' "Pretty soon I staggered down the stairs, but I wasn't drunk; no, indeed. "'Where are you going, Anna?' she inquired. "'Out to dinner with ----. Any objection?' I asked. "'No, only be in in time for business.' "Oh, thank God! I never laid my eyes on her again, nor she on me from that day to this. But I don't want you to get the idea that that escape from her ended my troubles. By no manner of means. Listen!" And then she told me of experiences too dreadful for publication--experiences in Ogden and Salt Lake, Utah; Reno, Nevada. Now she was in Los Angeles--farther away from mother and home than ever; as unhappy, as homesick, as miserable a girl as ever trod the earth. When she happened to be passing the mission door, some one was singing, "Just as I am without one plea." After that door had closed for the night, she followed Sister Taylor and me, trying to summon up courage enough to approach me, fearing that if she did not I should soon get on a car and her opportunity of ever meeting me would be lost. At the time of our meeting, Anna was well-nigh homeless, friendless, penniless, and, worst of all, Christless. In less than four hours, praise God! she had her greatest needs supplied, and, best of all, she had found her Savior. In memory of this, one of the songs appearing in this book was written--"The Value of a Song." It was a particular favorite with our family in the rescue home, some girl often remarking, "Doesn't it just seem to fit my case, Mother Roberts?" Then she would get me to relate the story of Anna or of some other poor unfortunate. Alas! their name is "Legion." THE VALUE OF A SONG. Words and Music by Mrs. Florence Roberts