thers failed."

Her enthusiasm for her work doubtless made it hard not only for her to
measure her own strength, but also for others to estimate it. But toward
the close of the summer of 1905 it became evident to all, even to herself,
that she had been overtaxing herself and must lighten her work. "Sister
makes me take beef juice, milk, and bread and butter," she said in a letter
to Mrs. Joyce. "Everybody tells me I am thin, but I am doing my best to get
fat. Every afternoon I devote all the time to get well. I sleep after
dinner, then go out riding for fresh air, so you see your little girl does
live high and extravagantly."

During this summer she received news of the serious illness of her friend
and foster-father, Bishop Joyce. This was a great source of anxiety and
sorrow to her. "How I wish I had means to go right to his dear presence to
tell him how I revere and love him for what he has done for me, and for
what he is to the world," she wrote his wife. "I envy I-lien's privilege of
being there. It must be a great comfort to be able to put one's heart-full
of love and sympathy into little services that he may need at this time."

The death of this true friend was a great grief to her, both on her own
account and because of the sorrow it brought to the family which she so
loved. "I loved Bishop as I did my own father," she said in a letter to
Mrs. Joyce. "Now I rejoice for both of them because they have heard the
Master's 'Well done, good and faithful servant.'" Then she added, "I will
ask him to ask the Master to let me work a little longer on earth. Of
course if he sees the reason why I shouldn't he will not do it."

[Illustration: The Anna Stone Memorial]

For a time it seemed as if her desire were to be granted, for when autumn
came she was able to open the Women's School at the usual time, and to
teach in it each morning. By keeping the afternoons free for rest she
gained so much that she could write: "I feel very grateful for my health. I
am up every day for my work. It is a busy life, but a very happy one." Dr.
Stone had decided in the autumn that unless Anna gained a great deal within
the next few weeks she would send her to the mountains for the winter, in
the hope that the dry air would help her. But, as she said, "Anna hates to
hear us talk about it because she does not want to leave her pet work." And
Anna soon seemed so much stronger that the doctor did not insist on her
going.

Anna wrote happily