“Why don’t you go into the mill for awhile and then get some money by you, Al. It would make it easier for you?” “But I can’t spare the time, uncle. I ought to keep right in with an unbroken school career. It can be done if only the right place be found. I am all at sea, just now, but I shall inquire. I know I shall find something.” We talked until the one o’clock whistle sounded, and then I went in the direction of the minister’s house to consult with him concerning my future. Mr. Woodward was minister over a little church of mill people, one of those underpaid men who not only preach faith but express it in many kindly but unheralded services to society. He obtained congenial work for overworked factory girls, sent tired mothers into the country in the summer season, sent invalids to hospitals, inspired mill lads in self-culture, and kept his own busy mind furnished with the latest and most scholarly information in social science and theology. When I rang his door-bell my heart nearly failed me with the thought that as he had never had the privilege of attending a college or a theological seminary, he might be unable to give me any advice on my immediate problem. But after we had sat in his study for an hour, and he had sounded me on my past experiences, and when I had concluded with a very pessimistic exclamation, “But I guess I’ve thrown away my chance by leaving Evangelical University, Mr. Woodward. I don’t know what took possession of me, I’m sure. It was such a whim, especially when I was doing so well out there!” The big Scotchman stood up, laid his heavy hand on my shoulder and exclaimed, “Albert, I think I see you continuing the fight from now on, if I can possibly do anything. You must have courage and faith; they are more to you than money.” He swept his hand across his eyes as if to sweep back the years and said, reminiscently, “Oh, if I’d had your chance, lad! You don’t know what it cost me to lose my chance! Listen!” He then recounted to me his own experience in search of an education and unfolded dramatic incident after dramatic incident for my encouragement. He showed me himself by a peat-bog fire, in the north of Ireland, amidst poverty, struggling with his few books. He showed me himself, an immigrant landing in New England, where he began to work in the flare of a furnace. Next he showed me how his chance for going to college had been cut off by his marriage. That was followed by the picture of him, sitting in a room through the day learning Greek and theology, while his wife went into the mill to earn the money for rent and clothes and books. The memory of those severe struggles which had cost nerve and health brought tears swimming into his kindly eyes. He said, in conclusion,