I am glad to think

I am not bound to make the world go round; But only to discover and to do,

With cheerful heart, the work that God appoints.

-Jean Ingelow.

CHAPTER XIII.

FIRST STEPS.

The first day of September saw him established in the old mission rooms. His father and mother had brought him to the city and with them came a box of food for immediate use, canned fruit and other things that would keep best, and a few pieces of furniture, as presents from home. When they left him toward the close of the day, the rooms were arranged so that he could remain for the night.

The first days were spent in cleaning and painting. He found that the building was in a state of decay and really unfit for the work, but he was determined that it should look as well as possible. He painted in large letters over the door, "God is love." He learned that the founder of the work had secured endowment enough to pay the rent and to leave for living and other expenses yearly about $100. He spent at once half of it for fuel that he might be ready for the cold weather.

Every day and evening he tried to become acquainted with the residents of the neighborhood, but they were evidently suspicious of him. He invited them to the rooms and the services, but no one would come. He talked with the children and tried to interest them, but some of them even cursed him. The weeks passed by and he seemed helpless in the presence of the power of vice and greed and ignorance. Had he made a mistake? Was his attempt to fail? Only a handful of true women and a score of children were the results of three months of hard work.

One day in December, when the weather was bitter cold, he heard of a family that was ill and in need. He hastened over to the number given him and found the home of Patrick Dolan. There was no fire in the house. Two of the children, down with diphtheria, lay on the only bed in the room, with a scant piece of old carpet as their cover. Two other children were running around the freezing room barefooted and with thinnest dresses on. The last crust of food was gone.

It was the old story. Patrick was a steady, hard-working man till drink made him its

slave, and now he spent every cent in the saloons and left his sick family to die.

Richard soon had a cheery fire burning and some plain food for Mrs. Dolan to prepare. The poor starved mother seemed to take new hope from the kindness and to enter with something like courage into the battle which the children were waging with the deadly disease.

Through the power thus gained over this family and a few others, Richard was able to gather a handful of children for a day school. He was appalled at their ignorance. Children eleven years old could not read and did not know the name of the country in which they lived. Many of them did not know who God is. These facts have ceased to startle us now, but in those days to learn them was a shock that cannot be appreciated.

This gathering of a few brought some encouragement to Richard, but he very well knew that this number would never make an impression upon the community. The great mass of the people were as deaf to his entreaties as the desert is unresponsive to one drop of water. The great tides of sin and poverty flowed around him and he seemed

to be like a wrecked sailor helpless to stay them, and soon to be engulfed by them.

One day at early evening twilight he was returning to the rooms. All the afternoon he had gone from house to house to talk with the people who, from all indications, were as unresponsive as ever. It seemed to him, too, that he could not carry the burden longer. He felt like dropping down in the street and crying out in agony to God before the people.

When a block from the mission, he noticed a crowd assembled in front of a saloon. As he drew near, he saw that two men who had been drinking were fighting. He learned that they were a gambler and John Miller, Rusty Miller they called him, a fisherman, and he was about to pass on, when to his horror he saw a little mite of a girl run up and clasp her arms around the fisherman's leg and cry, "Papa, come home, the bad man will kill you," and the fisherman turned in his drunken rage to strike her. With the quickness of youth and an indignant heart Richard sprang between the child and the drunken father and partially received the blow upon his hip.