Mr. Arnold, as usual, asked the girls what they would like to hear, and they at once asked for their favorite--'There is Rest for the Weary.' 'Here, mother, give me my fiddle,' said Allen to his wife, 'and bring out the books,' meaning the _Little Wanderer's Friend_, of which he keeps a supply. The books were got out by one of the girls, the fiddle was handed him by his wife, and Allen led off on the treble, all hands joining in. There were eleven girls in the room, and they sang in the chorus with unusual fervor, even for them. As soon as this song was finished, a couple of the girls, simultaneously, asked for 'There's a Light in the Window for Thee, Brother,' which was sung with emphasis and feeling. At the conclusion of the last-mentioned song, Mr. Arnold believed that the appointed hour had come, and, tapping Allen on the shoulder, he said: 'Well, John, old boy, give us your hand: I feel just like praying here with you!' Allen took the extended hand and gruffly said, 'What, _pray?_ Do you mean pray? No, sir, never!' 'Well, John, responded Mr. Arnold, 'I am going to pray here, anyhow. If I don't pray loud I'll pray soft. You shan't lose the prayer, at any rate.' 'Well, Arnold, mind, now, if you pray _I won't hear you;_ mind that. I don't know any thing about it. I won't hear you.' And backing slowly out of the room, and repeating, 'I won't hear you,' over and over again, Allen went through the door leading to the bar, and closed it after him. Mr. Arnold then invited the girls to join in prayer with him, which they did, some of them kneeling on the floor, as did the visitors, and others bowing their heads upon their hands, while Allen peered through the window of the partition door upon the singular scene. Mr. Arnold's heart was almost too full for utterance, but his fervor soon unloosed his tongue, and he poured out a simple, direct, and heartfelt prayer, which told powerfully upon the hearers. Many of the girls arose, sobbing, to their feet, and several of them crowded around Mr. Arnold, and begged him, in the name of God, to take them from that place. They would work their hands off, if honest work could be got for them; they would submit to any hardship if they could only be restored to opportunities for virtue and a Christian life. Poor Arnold! He was the picture of despair. It came upon him, all at once, that there is no help for such, this side the grave. He had at last conquered his opportunity, and prayed with these children of sin and shame, and now that they were calling upon him to answer his own prayer--to give them a chance to eat the bread of life--he had to put them off with the stone of evasion. Take them from that place! Where could he take them? In all this Christian land there is not a Christian home that would open its doors to a repentant female sinner, except to turn her out of the house.