I supposed it would not be for a week yet.  I am so sorry not to see you again, but I send you a little book that has helped me to get acquainted with Jesus Christ.  Perhaps it will help you too.  It is called ‘My Best Friend.’  I shall not forget to pray always that you may find Him.  He is so precious to me!  I must thank you in words, though I never can say it as it should be said, for your very great kindness to me when I was in trouble.  God sent you to me, I am sure.  Always gratefully your friend,

“ELIZABETH.”

That was all, no date, no address.  He was not hers, and she would hang out no clues for him to find her, even if he wished.  It was better so.

She sent the note and the little book to his address on Walnut Street; and then after writing a note to her Grandmother Brady, saying that she was going away for a long trip with Grandmother Bailey, she gave herself into the hands of the future like a submissive but weary child.

The noon train to New York carried in its drawing-room-car Madam Bailey, her granddaughter, her maid, and her dog, bound for Europe.  The society columns so stated; and so read Grandmother Brady a few days afterward.  So also read George Benedict, but it meant nothing to him.

When he received the note, his mind was almost as much excited as when he saw the little brown girl and the little brown horse vanishing behind the little brown station on the prairie.  He went to the telephone, and reflected that he knew no names.  He called up his automobile, and tore up to Flora Street; but in his bewilderment of the night before he had not noticed which block the house was in, nor which number.  He thought he knew where to find it, but in broad daylight the houses were all alike for three blocks, and for the life of him he could not remember whether he had turned up to the right or the left when he came to Flora Street.  He tried both, but saw no sign of the people he had but casually noticed at Willow Grove.

He could not ask where she lived, for he did not know her name.  Nothing but Elizabeth, and they had called her Bessie.  He could not go from house to house asking for a girl named Bessie.  They would think him a fool, as he was, for not finding out her name, her precious name, at once.  How could he let her slip from him again when he had just found her?

At last he hit upon a bright idea.  He asked some children along the street whether they knew of any young woman named Bessie or Elizabeth living there, but they all with one accord shook their heads, though one volunteered the information that “Lizzie Smith lives there.”  It was most distracting and unsatisfying.  There was nothing for it but for him to go home and wait in patience for her return.  She would come back sometime probably.  She had not said so, but she had not said she would not.  He had found her once; he might find her again.  And he could pray.  She had found comfort in that; so would he.  He would learn what her secret was.  He would get acquainted with her “best Friend.”  Diligently did he study that little book, and then he went and hunted up the man of God who had written it, and who had been the one to lead Elizabeth into the path of light by his earnest preaching every Sabbath, though this fact he did not know.