The wind was terrific and the snow cut the printer's face like tiny
needles, while he was forced again and again to turn his back to the
blast in order to breathe, and in spite of his heavy clothing was
chilled to the bone before he had gone three blocks. On Broadway, he
passed saloon after saloon, brilliant with glittering chandeliers and
attractive with merry music, inviting all the world to share the
good-fellowship and cheer within. He thought of his rooms, how cold
and lonely they would be, and had half a mind to stop at the hotel for
the night. For an instant he hesitated, then with a shake, "What folly,"
pushed on again. As he struggled along, fighting every inch of the
way, with head down and body braced to the task, warm lights from the
windows of many cozy homes fell across his path, and he seemed to feel
the cold more keenly for the contrast. Then through the storm, he saw
a church, dark, grim and forbidding, half-hidden in the swirling snow,
the steps and entrance barricaded with heavy drifts. A smile of bitter
sarcasm curled his lip as he muttered to himself: "How appropriate;
what a fine monument to the religious activity of the followers of
Christ," and he almost laughed aloud when he remembered that the sermon
delivered there the Sunday before was from the text, "I was a stranger
and ye took me not in." Suddenly he stopped and stood peering through
the storm. In the light of an electric arc, which sizzled and sputtered
on the corner, he saw a dark form half hidden in the snow piled about
the doorway of the building. Stepping closer, he reached out and touched
it with his foot, then bending down, he discovered to his horror that
it was the body of a man.

George tried to arouse the fallen one and lift him to his feet, but
his efforts only met with failure, and the other sank back again on
his bed of snow. The printer studied a moment. What should he do? Then
his eyes caught a gleam of light from a house near by. "Of course,"