A mother only will know what this means. After four operations the place was closed up in her cheek, still her mouth was closed, her teeth close together. I suffered torture all these years for fear she might strangle to death. I took her to San Antonio, Texas, to Dr. Herff, and he and his two sons removed a section of the jawbone, expecting to make an artificial joint, enabling her to use the other side of her jaw. After all this, the operation was a failure, and her jaws closed up again. We, in the meantime, moved to Richmond from Columbia. We became very successful in the hotel business and I saved money enough to send her to New York City, where her father, Dr. Gloyd, had a cousin, Dr. Messinger, who would see that she had the best relief possible. None of the surgeons there gave her any hope of opening her jaws. She went to Dr. John Wyeth to have him perform the plastic surgery; that is, he cut off a flap from under her chin, turning it over the scar on her cheek. Although Charlien was not a Christian, she had faith in God. Once she complained of my being too strict with her, but said: "Mamma I owe it to you that I have any faith in God, even if you are severe with me." She always believed that her mother had a God. Finding no physician in New York that could open her jaws, she wrote me this: "No one but God can open my mouth, Mamma; ask him to do it." There was a Catholic woman, Miss Doregan, who boarded with me and had a store around the corner from the hotel, and I could think of no one else who had as much faith as this woman. She said she believed that God would heal my child according to prayer, so I went for seven mornings before breakfast to this saint of God. She taught me many holy truths and she explained the Scriptures to me. I learned from her a prayer that we said in concert, that was written by one of the Old Fathers, and is one of the most complete in devotion I have ever read. I will record it here: "Come Holy Ghost send down those beams, That sweetly flow in silent streams, From thy bright throne above; Oh, Come Father of the poor, Thou bounteous source of all our store; Come fire our hearts with love. Come thou of comforters the best, Come thou the soul's delicious guest, The pilgrim's sweet relief: Thou art our rest in toil and sweat, Refreshment in excessive heat And solace in our grief. Oh! sacred light shoot home the darts, Oh! pierce the center of those hearts Whose faith aspires to thee. Without thy God-head nothing can Have any worth a price in man, Nothing can harmless be." "Lord wash our sinful stains away, Water from heaven our barren clay, Our wounds and bruises heal. To thy sweet yoke our stiff necks bow, Warm with thy fire our hearts of snow, Our wandering feet repair. Oh, grant thy faithful dearest Lord, Whose only hope is thy sure word, The seven gifts of thy spirit. Grant us in life to obey thy grace, Grant us in death to see thy face And endless joys inherit,