One night during this week's journey a crowd of drunken men boarded the train. They were so abusive to me that I went outside the car door. When I went in the next car I found the same kind dining car conductor I have before mentioned. At his inquiry as to what was the matter I just knelt and prayed and then told him how the drunken men had acted. He said: "Come with me. This won't do. I will see that you and your sister have a sleeper." He went with me into the other car, and when the men saw the man in uniform with me they tried to be very polite. They were under the influence of drink and in a sense not responsible for their actions. Who is responsible? The saloon, the brewery, the devil who uses these things to make men and women oftentimes more like fiends than creatures made in the image and likeness of God, and all who fail to use their influence against the liquor traffic are responsible. From Lincoln we went to Omaha where we parted feeling that the days had been spent for God and souls--the dear sister to return to her work in the missionary training home at Tabor, Iowa, I to hurry on to Chicago, taking with me one of the sisters I met for the first time in the slum mission work in Omaha a week previous. So we turned over that week's work to the Lord of the harvest, who will see that the seed scattered along life's pathway shall bring forth fruit unto eternal life. A PROFITABLE TRIP. Walking along the street in Chicago on my way to the Cook County Jail to see the "car-barn bandits" and one or two others under death sentence, I was impressed that I must go to some State Prison for Easter, only two days off. I stopped and prayed, inquiring of the Lord where he would have me go. I had been east and just arrived in the city, weary and worn, but I knew the voice of God was saying, "Go!" but where and by what route I knew not. I stood still until the Lord made it plain to go westward--to what place I need not know, but to go to the railroad office and get transportation. When I entered the office the kind official said, "What can I do for you, Mother?" At first I answered, "I hardly know what to ask for, as it is not yet plain to me just where to go;" but a little later I said to him, "I must go to Canon City, Colorado." "All right," he said, and gave me transportation. It was then too late, under ordinary circumstances, to visit the jail, but I felt that I must see those condemned boys before their execution, and I prayed that God would open my way and incline the heart of the jailer, Mr. Whitman, to grant me the desired opportunity. To my surprise I found Mr. Whitman on the street car. I told him that I must leave the city at once for western prisons and asked if he would kindly give me permission to see the condemned men who were in his charge, before I left, as I could not return before the day set for execution. He was very kind and answered, "Yes, I will send an officer with you to see the boys."