Fifteen Years with the Outcast | Page 6

parole. I had a portion
of the manuscript of this book with me, which the captain of the guard,
at my request, kindly allowed the young man and his cell-mates to read.
In consequence, we are indebted to one of these dear boys (God bless
him!) for some of the illustrations appearing in this book. Others have
been contributed by a young brother and sister who are devoting their
lives to God's service at the Gospel Trumpet office.
EXPLANATORY.
This book was originally prepared for the press under the title, "The
Autobiography of an Auto-harp." It was then written in verse and
liberally interspersed with foot-notes. Upon more mature consideration
and also upon the advice of one of much experience as a writer, I have
rewritten the work and given it the title, "Fifteen Years with the
Outcast."
Although the change necessitates a continuous repetition of the
personal pronoun "I," a word whose avoidance was the primary object
in writing under the original title, yet the new form is, I believe, much
more interesting. Furthermore, time and experience have occasioned
many needful additions.
For fifteen years "I have fought a good fight," though not so good as I

would have desired, and although I am in the evening of life, I realize
that I have not yet "finished my course." There is still much more for
me to do in this sorrowful, sin-cursed world. God has, among other
blessings, given me a strong physique. By his unmerited power I am
keeping the faith, growing in grace and in the knowledge of our Lord
and Savior Jesus Christ.
My greatest longing and ambition is some day to see Him whom my
soul loveth, "face to face," especially to have the joy of bringing some
priceless trophies to lay at His blessed feet.
Most sincerely yours,
Florence (Mother) Roberts. Gospel Trumpet Company, Anderson,
Indiana. September 27, 1911.

FIFTEEN YEARS WITH THE OUTCAST

CHAPTER I
.
LITTLE ROSA--A WARNING TO MOTHERS AND GUARDIANS.
What I am about to relate is my first experience in rescuing a girl and
occurred not long after my conversion.
At this time my husband, my son, and I were living in Redding, Shasta
Co., Cal. In the house that we were occupying lived another family also,
the little four-year-old daughter of which was an especial pet of mine.
While she was acting naughtily one day, thus hindering her mother
with the household duties, I bribed her to be good, by promising to go
down-town for some particularly nice candy made by a man who sold it
every day at a certain street corner, displaying it on a tray suspended
from his neck and always handling it with the whitest of cotton gloves.
When I reached the place, he had not yet arrived. Desirous of not
disappointing my little friend and having learned where the man
lived--in a tent on a lot near by--I immediately repaired to the place
designated. There I found a disreputable-looking middle-aged woman

and a forlorn little girl about twelve years old. The girl was in tears.
Upon my inquiring what was the matter, the woman immediately
berated the child in my presence. Turning to me, she said that this girl
was one on whom they recently had taken pity, and had hired to do
chores.
As there was but one tent, I questioned also as to sleeping
accommodations. It contained a full-sized bed and one narrow cot,
between which was suspended a thin calico curtain. The cooking,
eating, etc., were done out of doors.
The poor little one continued to cry bitterly. With aching heart I laid
my hand on her bowed head and bade her to be a good girl and try her
best to please and obey her employers, then inquired of her whether she
had ever attended Sunday-school or knew anything about Jesus. She
did not reply. This caused the woman to accuse her of sulkiness, at
which the girl looked up with swollen eyes, full of tears. Oh that look!
It astonished and puzzled me at the time. Hatred? Yes, and despair, and
misery, and yearning. There was a volume in that look, which I could
not then interpret. Beyond words, it troubled me.
Silently praying, I went on my way. I had walked only a few yards
toward home, when I heard the quick patter of bare feet behind me, and
some one calling, "Lady! Lady!" Turning, I saw the little girl
breathlessly trying to overtake me. Quickly she poured into my ears a
horrible story of wrong, of indescribable wickedness perpetrated on her
for the vile gratification of that man--so celebrated as a candy maker.
Soon I was in the presence of Judge Sweeney (now superintendent of
the United States mint in San Francisco) relating the awful story