In this manner I received much good reading, books that were very instructive. When a book was too large to carry around in my big pockets, I would cut or tear off a piece of it, and throw the remaining portion on some old, dusty cupboard in the attic, until I had read the piece torn off, then get a small ladder or box and tear off another piece, and so on until I had finished reading the entire book. One good friend gave me a small dictionary, which was a great help to me. Another gave me a book of word study, which I covered with a prayer-book cover and studied in chapel. This was a case of "Johnny Morgan wasn't here." By stealing, thieving and lying, so to speak, in this manner I read and studied for a great many years, and I credit my final escape from darkness and ignorance largely to the fact that I had independence enough to read and friends kind enough to give me these books. During the summer of 1899, I was appointed to the superintendency of the third floor of St. Vincent's Hospital. In this position, which I held for twelve years, I found a few more minutes occasionally to read, and to exercise the little independence I possessed. The result, the more I read, the more independent I became, and this was one of the grave charges brought against me when I was at last transferred, or, I might say, dragged from Portland. One of the great responsibilities of the office of superintendent was the caring of the priest's apartment which was on my floor. There was the chaplain of the hospital who resided in this apartment, and he nearly always had from one to four "wafer God manufacturers" visiting him, and you may be sure it was not a small care to see that these "gentlemen" had everything of the best, principally in the dining-room. I always had to take particular care to see that there was plenty of cream for their tables when possibly some of the patients had to do without or take skimmed milk, and many times the over supply would sour before it could be used. I just mention cream, but it was the same about many other things, it was always the very best of everything obtainable--cigars and liquors included. Yes, I have carried many bottles of wine to these priests, as well as carrying baskets of empty bottles down the back stairs, that had been emptied by these "holy celibate men of God." A large refrigerator was kept especially for this apartment with a large padlock on the door. It might have contaminated these "holy men of God" if their food had happened to have been mixed with that of a wicked secular, you know. [Illustration: _St. Vincent's Hospital, Portland, Oregon, Where I Served Eighteen Years of My Sisterhood Life._]