Daisy Lawton, on graduating from the young ladies' institute she was attending, one year after Ray had entered college, at once made arrangements to enter a young ladies' college, not far from the city where Ray and Edward were studying. In every way possible she strove to keep pace with Ray in his mental and spiritual growth, that she might in the fullest sense be qualified to walk by his side as a true helper. They frequently saw each other; their vacations were spent together; when separated, they kept up a constant correspondence. Thus they found themselves not only united in heart, but also bound together by common thoughts, by similar desires, and by the same holy purpose to make their lives glorify the same Master and Lord. When she graduated from college, she accepted a position as teacher in the Afton Graded School; but knowing that Ray would, in his chosen profession, never have an over-abundance of this world's goods, she, under her mother's supervision, took pains to carefully qualify herself as a thorough housekeeper. No household duty was regarded by her as too insignificant to know how to do with her own hands, or to know how to do well. Ray, as he watched her development, and saw how conscientiously she strove, in her great love for him, to make herself qualified for every duty that would come to her as his wife, realized more and more how utterly impossible it was for him to get along without her, and thanked God more and more for the treasure he had bestowed. Unconsciously to himself, she was absorbing the great love of his heart—the one who was most in his thoughts, and the one for whom he most planned and worked. He loved Jesus; he wanted to do Jesus' work; he would not have been happy in any other service; yet not Jesus, but Daisy, was fast becoming the idol of his soul. But God knew it; and, bending in pitying love over him, was already planning to teach him the great and eternal truth: "Thou shalt worship the Lord thy God; and him only shalt thou serve."

Strange as it may seem, Ray had nearly completed his seminary course, and as yet had come to no full decision as to what specific branch of religious work he should follow. He was thoroughly interested in both home and foreign missions, and had for years kept himself well informed as to the methods and the success of the work in both departments. While at Wenton, he had taken care to ground the little church, from the very outset, in its duty not only to care for itself, but to contribute toward sending the gospel to the destitute regions at home and abroad. "I regret," he frequently said, "that we have gotten into the habit of speaking of home and foreign missions, as though there were a difference between them, and that one is nearer, and therefore has a greater claim upon us than the other. To my mind, all is Christ's work; all is a part of his great commission. That old heathen motto, 'Nothing pertaining to humanity do I deem foreign,' in its widest and fullest sense should be the sentiment of every church of Christ, and of every Christian heart. Wherever there is a human soul without Jesus, there the gospel should be sent; there some preacher should go. Not because it is at home or abroad; but because it is Christ's command, and because it is a human soul needing his salvation."

As he drew near the close of his seminary course, however, he had felt a yearning toward the work abroad. "There is the most need of preachers there. I believe I would love to go where no preacher has yet gone; where it is darkest, and they most need the light. I only await the will of God," he one day said, little knowing that God, that very day, was to show him his will.

He left his room to go over to the chapel where he was preaching, and where that evening he was to hold a prayer meeting. It was yet early, but he had a call or two to make, and was to take tea with one of the families attending the chapel. As he passed down one of the business streets of the city, he came to a place where a large stone building was being erected. The walls were already half up, and a huge stone was even then being hoisted up to its position on the wall. He paused a moment, with several others, to see the workmen skillfully swing the heavy stone into place. Soon it had reached the proper height, and was slowly turning around to fit the niche it was designed to fill. But before it was fairly secured in its place, through the carelessness of one of the workmen, it slipped, and then with terrible impetus came plunging down upon the men at the derrick. With a cry of alarm, they dropped the cranks and fled from under. All escaped but one—a foreigner who had landed but a few days before, and who had that day, for the first time, found employment. One corner of the descending stone, as it swung around, struck him upon the temple, and he was instantly killed.

Ray helped to place the man in the ambulance, and saw him removed to the morgue. Then he went on toward the part of the city he was seeking. But the face of the dead man haunted him. It kept rising up before him in the prayer room. He had never so felt the uncertainty of life. He had never been so strongly impressed with the need of an immediate reconciliation to God on the part of every soul. Never before had he so realized how fearful it must be for one to die unsaved. He went back to his room. Edward was already in bed and asleep; but he could not retire. Slowly he paced his room. He had learned enough about the unfortunate man to know he had left a wife and several children at home, to seek work in a strange land; that he had doubtless perished without one ray of hope. Was not this the very way in which hundreds and thousands on foreign fields were perishing where one so perished in America? Hundreds at home were warning souls of their danger, and pointing out to them the way of eternal life: but in how many places, and among how many people, was there not a single witness for Christ; not a single preacher of his salvation! Had he any right to delay in hastening on to this work? Hour after hour Ray walked that room, weighing that question as he had never weighed it before. The more he thought it over, the clearer his duty became; and just as it began to grow light he threw himself on his knees at his bedside. "O Christ, I accept thy call," he cried. "Open thou the field, and I promise thee I will go. And may thy presence go with me, and make me a true witness of thy salvation unto perishing souls." He then sought his bed for a brief rest before the duties of the day began.

He waited several days before he wrote to Daisy of his decision, for he wanted to be sure he had not mistaken the will of God. Finding that each day only confirmed him in his choice, he then wrote her a full account of his decision, and how he had been led to make it. With great anxiety, he awaited her reply. It came almost immediately, and was as follows:

Afton, April 10, 18—.

Dear Ray:

Your letter was received last evening. I was not surprised at its contents, nor was I wholly unprepared for it, for I have been praying that this might be your choice. I know I shall love the work among those who so greatly need it, and I have long felt that there we can do our best work for Jesus. Unworthy as I am, I will gladly take my place by your side and do all I can to prosper you in your chosen field. I love home and friends, but I love Christ and those darkened, perishing souls more. I have told mamma, and she says I am to tell you that, hard as it is, she too can make the sacrifice for Jesus' sake. Let us pray that Christ will make us wholly consecrated to this our life work.

In deepest love, your
Daisy.