packing houses, who sometimes solaced his lonesome hours by a
verse or two of some familiar hymn:

"Must Jesus bear the cross alone
And all the world go free?
No, there's a cross for every one,
And there's a cross for me."

The Rev. Calvin Bruce turned away from the window and, after a
little hesitation, he kneeled. "What would Jesus do?" That was the
burden of his prayer. Never had he yielded himself so completely to
the Spirit's searching revealing of Jesus. He was on his knees a
long time. He retired and slept fitfully with many awakenings. He
rose before it was clear dawn, and threw open his window again. As
the light in the east grew stronger he repeated to himself: "What
would Jesus do? Shall I follow His steps?"

The sun rose and flooded the city with its power. When shall the
dawn of a new discipleship usher in the conquering triumph of a
closer walk with Jesus? When shall Christendom tread more closely
the path he made?

"It is the way the Master trod; Shall not the servant tread it
still?"

Chapter Twenty-one

"Master, I will follow Thee whithersoever Thou goest."

THE Saturday afternoon matinee at the Auditorium in Chicago was just
over and the usual crowd was struggling to get to its carriage
before any one else. The Auditorium attendant was shouting out the
numbers of different carriages and the carriage doors were slamming
as the horses were driven rapidly up to the curb, held there
impatiently by the drivers who had shivered long in the raw east
wind, and then let go to plunge for a few minutes into the river of
vehicles that tossed under the elevated railway and finally went
whirling off up the avenue.

"Now then, 624," shouted the Auditorium attendant; "624!" he
repeated, and there dashed up to the curb a splendid span of black
horses attached to a carriage having the monogram, "C. R. S." in
gilt letters on the panel of the door.

Two girls stepped out of the crowd towards the carriage. The older
one had entered and taken her seat and the attendant was still
holding the door open for the younger, who stood hesitating on the
curb.

"Come, Felicia! What are you waiting for! I shall freeze to death!"
called the voice from the carriage.

The girl outside of the carriage hastily unpinned a bunch of English
violets from her dress and handed them to a small boy who was
standing shivering on the edge of the sidewalk almost under the
horses' feet. He took them, wit