anted to hear
everyone's voice in the next verse," did not appeal very forcibly to
her imagination. She fancied Sheldon Corthell doing these things, and
could not forbear to smile. She had to admit, despite the protests of
conscience, that she did prefer the studio to the Sunday-school.

"Oh," remarked Jadwin, "I'm sorry to hear you had a headache. I suppose
my little micks" (he invariably spoke of his mission children thus) "do
make more noise than music."

"I found them very interesting."

"No, excuse me, but I'm afraid you didn't. My little micks are not
interesting--to look at nor to listen to. But I, kind of--well, I don't
know," he began pulling his mustache. "It seems to suit me to get down
there and get hold of these people. You know Moody put me up to it. He
was here about five years ago, and I went to one of his big meetings,
and then to all of them. And I met the fellow, too, and I tell you,
Miss Dearborn, he stirred me all up. I didn't "get religion." No,
nothing like that. But I got a notion it was time to be up and doing,
and I figured it out that business principles were as good in religion
as they are--well, in La Salle Street, and that if the church
people--the men I mean--put as much energy, and shrewdness, and
competitive spirit into the saving of souls as they did into the saving
of dollars that we might get somewhere. And so I took hold of a half
dozen broken-down, bankrupt Sunday-school concerns over here on Archer
Avenue that were fighting each other all the time, and amalgamated them
all--a regular trust, just as if they were iron foundries--and turned
the incompetents out and put my subordinates in, and put the thing on a
business basis, and by now, I'll venture to say, there's not a better
organised Sunday-school in all Chicago, and I'll bet if D. L. Moody
were here to-day he'd say, 'Jadwin, well done, thou good and faithful
servant.'"

"I haven't a doubt of it, Mr. Jadwin," Laura hastened to exclaim. "And
you must not think that I don't believe you are doing a splendid work."

"Well, it suits me," he repeated. "I like my little micks, and now and
then I have a chance to get hold of the kind that it pays to push
along. About four months ago I came across a boy in the Bible class; I
guess he's about sixteen; name is Bradley--Billy Bradley, father a
confirmed drunk, mother takes in washing, sister--we won't speak about;
and he seemed to be bright and willing to work, and I gave him a job in