church."

"You will keep it secret, Doctor?" she begged.

"I'll not publish it. But the certificate is on file in the Hall
of Records. Any one can see it who wishes. It is beyond my control."

An old woman with bedraggled skirt, reddened eyes and a fat, motherly
face timidly approached. She had been overlooked.

"Doctor, you're my last chance. I come up to New York to see my
son-in-law, as grand a rascal as ever lived. He owes me a thousand
dollars and won't pay it. We lost our crop down in Old Virginia.
So I scraped up the money and got here to squeeze what he owed out
of that rascal. Now he's turned me out into the street and moved
where I can't find him. I'm starvin' to death. I ain't got a cent
to go home; an' what's worse'n all, I got a letter this mornin'
tellin' me my idiot boy's down sick an' cryin' for me. I'm the only
one can do anything for him. He can't understand nobody else."

Her voice broke and she bit her lips to keep back the tears.

"I've begged all day. Everybody laughs at me. I heard you preach
one Sunday. I knowed you wouldn't laugh at me. I want you to loan
me twenty dollars to get home quick. I'll start the minute I can
get to the train, an' I'll pay you back if I have to sell my feather
beds. Now, will you do it?"

"Well, a more improbable story was never told a New Yorker, but
something whispers to me you're telling the truth."