that I might enjoy reading. I asked for it. It proved to be The Impersonal Life.

It fascinated me so completely (I seemed to understand perfectly every word of it) that I simply could not lay it aside; I read until after 1 a. m. Then again next morning at a very early hour I went at it again. Never before was I so interested in anything. I was so hungry for its message; had sought so long; had tasted of so many fruits that seemed sweet at first, but which turned to bitterness when biting deep into them. This book was something REAL, something that I felt would not only retain its flavor but would grow richer and sweeter as the years rolled by.

Shortly after I had finished reading the book—I think the same afternoon, a business man, who had never done such a thing before, came to me and told me something that was very sacred to him (he was but a casual friend)—something that was troubling him almost unbearably. In addition to this, he was having trouble with his partner, and was really in great distress.

I listened and urged him on to complete unburdening. All at once he stopped, looked at me in amazement, and said, “Why on earth am I telling you all this? You cannot possibly be interested.”

I told him I was indeed very much interested, and knew why he was telling me, for I had something for him. I told him of the little borrowed book, whose owner had said that she valued it more than any book she possessed, and had owned it for five years. He begged me to let him take it home. Hesitatingly, feeling that one should not refuse “the Bread of Life” to one who asked for it, I let him have it. His name was . You are aware