He made the effort day after day, and although there was so much in his whole bearing that was prepossessing, none were willing to run the risk. Never had his prospects appeared so discouraging, and never had he greater need of all the support of the sweet talismanic words which had guided and strengthened him so long. Devoting more time to his pen, his contributions to the press were more frequent, and this resource was just now invaluable, as it really did provide his daily food. In these days of darkness, Roland never passed the poor news boys, or any who earned a precarious living in the streets, without feelings of warmer, deeper interest. Sometimes he would stop to look at some little, tired wanderer, ragged, pale, friendless, sleeping perhaps in a packing-box, in the market stalls, or wherever he could find shelter from the weather, and he would often ask himself, "Can I do nothing for these poor, homeless children?" He weighed the matter seriously, and turned attention to the subject, in the articles which he contributed to the daily press. Writing from a full heart, that had passed through these sorrows himself, his words were eloquent; and on making an appeal to any who would be willing to aid in procuring home and shelter for these poor outcasts, to meet him at his humble lodgings, he waited anxiously for some response. A week passed. At length a thoughtful-looking man, with very plain garb, sought him at the place appointed. "I have been interested in your articles, young man; I came to ask what would you propose?" "I scarcely know, sir; but the misery and exposure of this class haunt me daily, nightly. I have been told that there are three thousand. In a great city like this, there should be a home for such." "Are you aware that much money would be needed to provide one?" "I know that, sir; but if it is the Lord's directing, He will provide the money, if we will only use the means." "Have you time at your disposal?" "I have a great deal just now, and will do any thing that you propose." "First, tell me your name." "It is Roland Bruce; I can show you a letter from the President of the college where I graduated." And trusting the plain, honest, benevolent face, he told his story to the good man, not even reserving the trial at Mr. Thornly's. Mark Grafton was a keen physiognomist, and an eccentric man; he smiled when he read the letter, for he had fully made up his mind before to trust the open countenance, and fine clear eye of Roland Bruce. "What I propose is this: I will give you a list of names of influential men, who I know will give their aid in a cause like this; you will call on them in my name, and report progress to me every evening." Roland was delighted; here was an opportunity to occupy his time with useful employment, to benefit a class for whom his heart had often bled.