time for the train. We went to a little hotel near the depot to wait. About one o'clock in the morning somebody came and said—

"Get ready for the train; it's coming.'

"I looked into my mother's face. Her eyes were red with long weeping, for the poor woman didn't have money enough to pay our fare all the way to Glenwood, where the Home was.

"We went to the train, where mother put one arm around me, and the other about Ed, and sobbed as if her poor heart would break. People walked by, looked at us, but they didn't say a word. Why? They didn't know, and if they had they wouldn't have cared. But mother knew; yes, and she knew that for four years she wouldn't see her boys.

"We got into a car, and said, 'Good-by, mother,' as the train started, and it was the first good-by to her I had ever said. The last we saw of her she was smiling upon us through her tears. Yes; mother knew, and mother cared.

"We reached Council Bluffs early in the morning. It was cold, and we turned our little thin coat collars up around our necks and shivered. We saw a little hotel, and going to it we asked a woman we saw there for something to eat. She asked our names, and I said:

"My name is Willie Sunday, and this is my brother Ed.'

"And where are you going?' she then asked.

"To the Soldiers' Orphans Home at Glenwood,' I told her.

"She wiped her eyes, and said, 'My husband was a soldier, and he never came back. He wouldn't turn any one away, and I surely won't turn you boys away.'

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She put her arms about us, and said, 'Come on in.'

"She gave us our breakfast, and our dinner too. There was no train out on the Burlington till afternoon. We played around in the freight yards until near the time, when we saw a freight train standing on the track, and climbed into the caboose. After the train started the conductor came along, and said:

'Where are your tickets?'

"Ain't got any,' said I.

"Where's your money?'
Ain't got any."

"Then I'll have to put you off,' he said.

"We commenced to cry. My brother Ed handed him a letter of introduction to the superintendent of the Home. As he read it his eyes filled with tears, and as he handed it back, he said:

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'Just sit still, boys; it won't cost you a cent to ride on my train.'

"It is twenty miles from Council Bluffs to Glenwood, and as we rounded the curve the conductor said:

"There is the Home on the hill, boys!' The conductor often visited us at the Home, and never failed to give us candy, peanuts and pennies. He was afterwards killed not far from the Home.

"We were there about a year and a half when the Home was discontinued, and the children, about sixty in all-were transferred to the Orphans' Home at Davenport, Iowa."

In the Davenport Home young Billy had the advantage of good schooling and proper religious instruction, and in the systematic atmosphere he found there, he was inspired with an ambition to make something out of himself. There he was taught to be earnest and energetic, painstaking and thorough in whatever he undertook.

A strong religious influence filled the place, and what

he was taught there of religion and the Bible was sufficent to make him a believer in the divine authority of the Scriptures. So well and skillfully was he filled with Bible knowledge that he has ever since been free from all intellectual doubt, although he did not become a Christian until after he reached man's estate. He will never cease to be thankful for the years he spent in the Davenport Home, and the molding influence it exerted upon all his after life.

Sunday's mother was a Christian woman, and although she did not long have him under her care, like the mother of Samuel she turned his little feet into the right pathway.

One incident connected with Billy's stay at the Glenwood Home reveals the bent of the boy's mind at the time, and shows why he has waged lifelong antagonism against oppression of the weak by the strong. In the school were boys of various dispositions, one of whom was the typical beefy bully; a boy who lorded it over the others just because he thought he could. Billy had never had any trouble with this boy himself, but it stirred him to the quick to see how arrogantly and overbearing he behaved toward the others.

Finally it was decided in a little group of boys that this state of affairs must stop, and it fell on Billy to champion the cause of the weak.

He felt sure that he could lick the bully, and was more than willing to try. Fighting in school was of course against the rules, but some nights later the bully was "dared to come out." So about three o'clock in the morning, out crept a dozen or more of the youngsters, clad only in their night shirts and trousers, and stealthily made their way, through windows and down waterpipes, to the protecting shadow of a clump of trees well removed from the school building.

In the dim light before the dawn they formed a ring, and the bully went into it with a chip on his shoulder. But zip! that moment Billy sent it flying, and before the bully could get over his astonishment, rapid and telling blows from Billy's fist were being planted in his beefy face.

With the agility of a cat the smaller boy danced this way and that, on the alert for openings, into which he shot with all the energy his body held. The fast and furious conflict, in all of which Billy was giving the bully a lot of punishment, tickled the other boys mightily, until the snob was given all he deserved. The victory was to Billy, and the bully was quite a different boy afterward. That early morning drubbing was probably the making of him.

At the Glenwood school a strict rule required prompt appearance at meals, and boys who were not on hand to the dot had to miss both that meal and the next. Somehow or other Billy found it hard to obey that rule. In later years he has generally been "Johnny on the spot," but in that time he had to miss a good many meals.

To miss two meals a day is not a good thing for a growing boy, and it began to show on Billy so much that it greatly worried his brother Ed. The older boy was as anxious to have his little brother look well as the king's steward was that Daniel should, and so Ed began to scratch his head and do some thinking himself.

In his scratching he must have touched the right spot, for he soon managed to have himself assigned to the task of cleaning the kitchen. When his work there was finished it fell upon him to lock the door. This he faithfully did, but it often happened that little Billy was locked in the kitchen. The plate he had missed at the table Ed would tuck away in some convenient corner,