So Joyce went to see the Lymans and as a result was engaged to teach in the Bible School, which would begin as soon as the public schools closed, and be in session for six weeks. She would have to be at the church at half past eight and stay until half past eleven. The pay wasn’t great, but it took only half her day and she loved the work. She might be able to get something else afternoons occasionally to help out. In the meantime she could live on that ten dollars if she had to, and she meant to. As for the interval before the Bible School opened, there would be something to do, she was sure. And, anyhow, the barrel of meal hadn’t wasted yet, and she felt sure the Lord would take care of her. Besides, she needed some time to fix up her little home and make it liveable. One couldn’t just exist if one was working, one had to have things tolerably comfortable for resting and eating or one couldn’t do good work. So she went back to her little house and sat down to think. The conclusion of her meditation was that she decided to buy a saw. Consulting Mrs. Bryant that Monday morning, she finally decided on a trip to the city, and armed with minute directions about stores and prices, she took the noon train. Her first purchase was a Bible. She had asked about a book-store where things would not be expensive and Mrs. Bryant had named a second-hand place where things were very nice and very cheap, she said. Joyce found a Scofield Bible, new and clean, and scarcely used at all, it seemed. It had an inscription on the fly-leaf, “To Mary, from Mother, December 25, 1922.” Joyce felt a pitiful joy in buying that particular Bible. It seemed so sorrowful that a Bible from a mother to her child should be lying out in the open on a book-stall like that, and only two years after it was given. What if it had been hers from her mother? What if it had been Aunt Mary’s Bible! She fell to wondering about that other Mary. Was she dead, or didn’t she care about the book? Were they both dead, mother and child, in those two brief years? How did a precious, intimate thing like a Bible get to be sold in a second-hand store? It seemed almost indecent. Surely some relative or even a trustee who had to sell things at auction would have had the decency to give a Bible to some friend who would care for it, or to some mission that would use it for the glory of God. So she bought the Bible and carried it tenderly with a thought for its unknown owner and donor.