ghout the sermon. One of the members of the church, who appeared
to be irritated by the incident, later spoke of it to him and added,
sardonically, "How does it feel to be merely 'Mrs. Livermore's
husband'?"

In reply Mr. Livermore flashed on him one of his charming smiles. "Why,
I'm very proud of it," he said, with the utmost cheerfulness. "You see,
I'm the only man in the world who has that distinction."

They were a charming couple, the Livermores, and they deserved far more
than they received from a world to which they gave so freely and so
richly. To me, as to others, they were more than kind; and I never
recall them without a deep feeling of gratitude and an equally deep
sense of loss in their passing.

It was during this period, also, that I met Frances E. Willard. There
was a great Moody revival in progress in Boston, and Miss Willard was
the righthand assistant of Mr. Moody. To her that revival must have been
marked with a star, for during it she met for the first time Miss Anna
Gordon, who became her life-long friend and her biographer. The meetings
also laid the foundation of our friendship, and for many years Miss
Willard and I were closely associated in work and affection.

On the second or third night of the revival, during one of the "mixed
meetings," attended by both women and men, Mr. Moody invited those who
were willing to talk to sinners to come to the front. I went down the
aisle with others, and found a seat near Miss Willard, to whom I was
then introduced by some one who knew us both. I wore my hair short in
those days, and I had a little fur cap on my head. Though I had been
preaching for several years, I looked absurdly young--far too young, it
soon became evident, to interest Mr. Moody. He was already moving about
among the men and women who had responded to his invitation, and one by
one he invited them to speak, passing me each time until at last I
was left alone. Then he took pity on me and came to my side to whisper
kindly that I had misunderstood his invitation. He did not want young
girls to talk to his people, he said, but mature women with worldly
experience. He advised me to go home to my mother, adding, to soften the
blow, that some time in the future when there were young girls at the
meeting I could come and talk to them.

I made no explanations to him, but started to leave, and Miss Willard,
who saw me departing, followed and stopped me. She asked why I was
going, and I told he