child that lived only a day. The husband refused to take her home again, and she sought in her feeble state of health to find some light and lucrative employment by which she could earn her bread. In this endeavor she was often overwhelmed with discouragements and many grievous trials rose up to meet her on the way. With stout heart she fought against want, beating it back with despair as it tried to creep in at her door. One day hunger drove her out upon the street, and she stood at the door of a palace home, which chanced to be the very house where she was born, asking for bread.

"The heartless mistress of the mansion called an officer and Rose was taken to the station charged with va-. grancy. Poor child! Thrown into the association of drunkards and harlots, she soon became abandoned to that society and has ever since, when not languishing in prison, wandered upon the street. Sometimes she is fortunate enough to find a little job of work, but oftener she is left to beg her bread. It was thus you found her today, Marie. Not guilty of any misdemeanor, but bearing the sins of society. God pity poor little June Bud!"

Marie's face was buried in Ruth's lap, and as she finished the recital of the sad life she wept and echoed the words: "Poor little June Bud!"

Ah, dear mothers, you who sit so securely in your palace homes, hugging to your bosom your own little darling daughters, think for a moment of the story of poor Rose Sommers, and how often her case is repeated in society, and meditate upon these words: Who knows but it will be your own child next that must fall to fill up the gap that June Bud will make when she bids farewell to life on earth,

CHAPTER XXVII.

FINDING HER MISSION.

For some time Marie sat with bowed head struggling with emotion. The sad story of Rose Sommers had gone down like a probe of steel into her soul. At last she took her friend's hand tenderly in her own and said: "Dear Ruth, I am glad that you have given me the sequel to my story of to-day's experience, for it will strengthen me in my purpose to do good as I go down into that dark, foul atmosphere to minister to those lost 'spirits in person.'

Pausing a moment, she continued: "Ruth, do you think I could preach the gospel to those lost and helpless. creatures?"

"Yes, Marie, why could you not? If you had the courage to speak to the occupants of that restaurant to-day, surely you could talk to those who are yearning for your words of sympathy and a mother's love."

"Ah," replied Marie, "but it was not my courage that helped me speak to-day; but the spirit that God gave me. He gave me the words and He was my courage." Then looking earnestly into Ruth's face, she asked: "Whom do you think, dear, I could get to accompany me on such a mission of love?"

"You need but one, Marie, and that one you already have, even Christ. The least demonstration you can make will be the more acceptable to the officers in charge, and farther reaching with the prisoners."

With an affectionate good-night, the two ladies parted and Marie retired to rest, but not to sleep, for there upon her bed she was perfecting a plan of work that would in

deed be the means of rescuing souls. Long and earnestly that night she prayed, entreating God to endow her with wisdom for the work that had come so unexpectedly to her. She planned her work in the small hours of night, then closed her eyes in sleep. She arose in the morning with a calm and fixed purpose in her mind. When the morning devotions were over, and little Earnie had departed for the kindergarten, she put upon her a plain bonnet and wrap and taking her Bible, Ruth's present to her, she bade Jeanetta, who was now her only housemaid, good-morning, and wended her way to the city prison. Taking her position in a place where she could be heard, she tuned her voice and sang in most tender strains:

"Rock of Ages, cleft for me,
Let me hide myself in thee;
Let the water and the blood

From thy riven side which flowed,

Be for sin a double cure,

Save me from its guilt and power."

As the strains of her musical voice were dying away, she caught the inspiration of the spirit that was working mightily with those behind the bars, and opening her Bible read a few well-chosen verses. Then with the tenderness of woman and the gentle spirit of the Lord, she lifted up her voice and told them of Jesus and His power to save, even to the uttermost. She then gave them her home address, and bade them, one and all, when they should again be free, to come to her for counsel as they would go to a mother.

Going to the cell, she learned that poor little June Bud had been sentenced to six months in the House of Correction. Turning away, bitter thoughts came into her heart as she meditated upon man's inhumanity to man;

yes, and cruelty to woman. As she stood waiting for the turnkey to let her out, an officer whom she saw while talking pass a bottle of whisky into the women's cell, came to her and in a most incredulous manner, which betokened lack of sympathy with her work, said: “Madam, what do you hope to gain by this morning's work?"

Marie's face looked a little puzzled, for she had not much thought of the result. She had felt the drawing of the spirit and had listened to its leading, but now that the question had been so fairly put, she gave it a thought and right then and there asked herself: "What had she hoped to gain?" The Spirit whispered: "I have planted, Appolis watered, but God gave the increase." And she smiled pleasantly at him and answered: "I think, sir, I have nothing to do with the results of my labors. The Lord, who put it into my heart to come, will take care of the results. But when I get into Heaven, as I hope to some day, I shall expect to see some of these poor wretched souls up there in white raiment."

"Oh, bah!" said the man. "Why madam, those women behind the bars haven't got any souls! They have grown to be animals! dogs! brutes! Surely there is no good in them!"

For a moment the utmost astonishment was depicted upon Marie's face, for the man's words sounded to her as though he himself was void of manhood. Then she looked at him and said: "I fear you are quite as much in darkness pertaining to your soul's need as they. None ever yet fell so low that there was not a little good within them."

While her words were yet tingling in the ears of the officer, she bowed herself out of the prison and went her way to the House of Correction in quest of Rose Sommers, for she said to herself: "I may not be able to do