When we were _en route_ for Boston on that first tour,--a long trip then, eight or nine hours at least by the fast trains--there sat close to us in the car a little woman who watched me all the time and smiled whenever I glanced at her. I noticed that she had no luncheon with her, so when we opened our Delmonico hamper, I leaned across and asked her to join us. I do not exactly know why I did it for I was not in the habit of making friends with our fellow-travellers; but the little person appealed to me somehow in addition to her being lunchless. She was the most pleased creature imaginable! She nibbled a little, smiled, spoke hardly a word, and after lunch I forgot all about her. In Boston, as I was in my room in the hotel practising, before going to the theatre, there came a faint rap on the door. I called out "Come in," yet nobody came. I began to practise again and again came a little rap. "Come in," I called a second time, yet still nothing happened. After a third rap I went and opened the door. In the dark hall stood a woman. I did not remember ever having seen her before; but I could hardly distinguish her features in the passage. "I've come," said she in a soft, small voice, "to ask you if you would please kiss me?" Of course I complied. Needless to say, I thought her quite crazy. After I had kissed her cheek she nodded and vanished into the darkness while I, much mystified, went back to my singing. That night at the theatre I saw a small person sitting in the front row, smiling up at me. Her face this time was somewhat familiar and I said to myself, "I do believe that's the little woman who had lunch with us on the train!" and then--"I wonder--_could_ it also be the crazy woman who wanted me to kiss her?" During our week's engagement in Boston we were confronted with a dilemma. Max Strakosch came to me much upset. "What are we going to do in Providence--the only decent hotel in the town has burned down," he said. "You'll have to stop with friends." "I haven't any friends in Providence," I replied. "Well, you'll have to get some," he declared. "There's no hotel where you could possibly stay and we can't cancel your engagement. The houses are sold out." Presently a cousin of mine, acting as my agent on these trips, came and told me that a man had called on him at the theatre whose wife wished to "entertain" Miss Kellogg while she was in Providence! The idea appalled me and I flatly refused to accept this extraordinary invitation; but those two men simply forced me into it. Strakosch, indeed, regarded the incident as a clear dispensation from heaven. "Nothing could be more fortunate," he said, "never mind who they are, you go and stay with them anyway. You've wonderful business waiting for you in Providence."