Joyce turned to see if a car was coming, but none was in sight. She held her hat, and ducking her head, hurried on as fast as she could fly, but at the second corner the wind took her and almost tore her from the sidewalk. It was with difficulty she regained her footing and huddled by some steps with her hand on a building to steady her. Then the rain fell in torrents, and she turned and scurried blindly into an open doorway a few feet away. Other people had taken refuge there also, they were crowding in and Joyce was pushed with the throng inside the door, not knowing what kind of a place she was entering. But there were other women in the company, caught in the storm as was she, so she was not frightened. Before she had opportunity to look around and know where she was a burst of song broke about her: “Free from the law! O happy condition! Jesus hath bled and there is remission! Cursed by the law, and bruised by the fall, Christ hath redeemed us once for all. “Once for all, O sinner, receive it! Once for all, O brother, believe it! Cling to the cross, the burden will fall, Christ hath redeemed us once for all.” It was a religious meeting of some sort, right there in the heart of the city! She pressed in at last where she could stand behind the last row of chairs next to the aisle and see the platform. A piano was there and a girl playing the hymn. A young man was playing on a cornet, and there were singers and some men seated in chairs behind a low desk table. She forgot that she was missing her train in her deep interest in the meeting, and her own voice joined eagerly in the old hymn she had known ever since she could remember: “Now we are free--there’s no condemnation, Jesus provides a perfect salvation: ‘Come unto me,’ oh, hear His sweet call, Come, and He saves us, once for all.” Her eyes swept over the congregation. Men and women and children were there, people of plain dress, mostly, some young giddy children of the street, some old men in worn garments, a few tired-looking women, not many mighty. Back by the door, caught as herself in the storm were a few better-dressed people, in luxurious furs and velvets, people obviously amused at their surroundings, as they would have been equally amused if they had dropped into an opium joint for the moment, or a travelling circus, or a Hindoo temple, or any other alien environment. But Joyce felt that she had dropped in on home and her heart went out in the song: “‘Children of God,’ oh, glorious calling, Surely His grace will keep us from falling: Passing from death to life at His call, Blessed salvation once for all.” The congregation rustled into their seats with the closing chorus and gave Joyce a full view of the people on the platform. A man with a good voice that could be heard out in the street was speaking now. He said: