e. If it did not, I would give up
the fight.

Never have I worked harder or better than during those seven days, when
I put into the effort not only my heart and soul, but the last flame of
my dying vitality, We had a rousing revival--one of the good old-time
affairs when the mourners' benches were constantly filled and the air
resounded with alleluias. The excitement and our success, mildly aided
by the box of biscuit, sustained me through the week, and not until
the last night did I realize how much of me had gone into this final
desperate charge of mine. Then, the service over and the people
departed, I sank, weak and trembling, into a chair, trying to pull
myself together before hearing my fate in the good-night words of the
minister I had assisted. When he came to me and began to compliment me
on the work I had done, I could not rise. I sat still and listened with
downcast eyes, afraid to lift them lest he read in them something of my
need and panic in this moment when my whole future seemed at stake.

At first his words rolled around the empty church as if they were
trying to get away from me, but at last I began to catch them. I was, it
seemed, a most desirable helper. It had been a privilege and a pleasure
to be associated with me. Beyond doubt, I would go far in my career.
He heartily wished that he could reward me adequately. I deserved fifty
dollars.

My tired heart fluttered at this. Probably my empty stomach fluttered,
too; but in the next moment something seemed to catch my throat and stop
my breath. For it appeared that, notwithstanding the enthusiasm and
the spiritual uplift of the week, the collections had been very
disappointing and the expenses unusually heavy. He could not give me
fifty dollars. He could not give me anything at all. He thanked me
warmly and wished me good night.

I managed to answer him and to get to my feet, but that journey down the
aisle from my chair to the church door was the longest journey I have
ever made. During it I felt not only the heart-sick disappointment of
the moment, but the cumulative unhappiness of the years to come. I was
friendless, penniless, and starving, but it was not of these conditions
that I thought then. The one overwhelming fact was that I had been
weighed and found wanting. I was not worthy.

I stumbled along, passing blindly a woman who stood on the street near
the church entrance. She stopped me, timidly, and held out her hand.
Then suddenly she