The Good Will Idea

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The Good Will Idea
by G.W. Hinckley
Good Will Publishing Company
Hinckley, Maine
1922
pages 1-53


The Story of Good Will
       
 THE Story of the Good Will Homes and Schools
deals with small things. It will be noted that
boys themselves have had much to do with it.
Its inception was in the heart of a boy; its name--
Good Will-is traced to a few boys under fourteen
years of age; the first money for the Girls' Depart-
ment was given by two boys under twelve years of
age; the letter which inspired the first gift of an en-
dowed home was written by A "college boy," and
boys have been largely responsible for the "Good
Will Spirit."
 The story of Good Will Farm, as told by the
founder-the author of this volume--to hundreds
of audiences, in small villages, in large cities, at
summer conferences, in cottages, in churches, in
theatres, and once on a Cunard steamer in mid-
ocean, is substantially as follows:
 I had a schoolmate; "he was the only son of his
mother and she was a widow." It was the mother's
custom to earn a living for herself and her boy by
working in the homes of her neighbors. Wherever
she toiled she secured her noon-day meal. On such
days she would get breakfast for herself and her
boy, then lock the door of the house, and my school-
mate, younger than myself by several years, but
admired by me because of his intelligence -and men-
tal alertness, would be dinnerless-without food,--
until the mother could return at the close of the
day, unlock the door and prepare the evening meal.
 Once this was done three days in succession. In
the afternoon of the third day the boy was discov-
ered with his hand in a working man's dinner pail;
he was trying to satisfy the pangs of hunger with
the remnant of the man's dinner and he got caught
in the act.
 What happened then would not be allowed now;
he was sentenced to the State Reform School until
he should be twenty-one years old.
 I was only a boy myself, but my heart was hurt;
I did not believe that the lad was, at heart, any
more dishonest than myself or any other boy in the
town, but he was a victim of neglect and hunger.
My heart was hurt. I began to think. Why had
not some one taken an interest in that boy before he
had put his hand in the working man's dinner pail,
instead of waiting till a petty theft had been com-
mitted and then demanding his punishment.
 I began to dream, boys do sometimes; I began to
dream that sometime I would become a man, and,
if I ever became a man I would build a house-I
would build houses-and when I heard of a boy
imperilled and in need as that boy had been, I would
extend a helping hand until he could take care of
himself.
 That was, I say, the dream of boyhood, but as I
reached early manhood I could see that it was likely
to be a dream only. A man to undertake and to
develop such a work must have one of two things;
he must have wealth at his command, or he must
have friends in sympathy with the plan and both
able and willing to help. I had neither the friends
nor the money; I was dollarless and my acquaint-
ances were few and among them there were none
of wealth.
 But the need was pressing or it seemed so, to me;
and whatever others might do, my own life work
would not be accomplished, unless I builded a house
-houses-and extended a helping hand to worthy
boys in need or in moral peril.
 One day, when the thought of what I ought to do
but could not do, was pressing heavily, I was read-
ing an ancient book-a book which any young man
may read with profit when facing the problem of
his own life-work, and in the thirty-seventh Psalm,
I saw these words:
 "Commit thy way unto the Lord: trust also in
him, and he shall bring it to pass."
 The pronoun "it" was in italics, indicating that
it had been supplied by the translators of the King
James version-so called,-in an effort to make the
meaning clear. Dropping out the italicized "it",
the statement was as follows:
 "Commit thy way unto the Lord; trust also in
him and he shall bring to pass."
 Here was something I could do in furtherance of
the cherished plan; I could trust in God, I could
make it my business-the business of my life-to be
in my place however trying it might be at times,
and I could expect that God would "bring to pass";
this might not come to pass in my way, or as I
would prefer, but something worth accomplishing
would result. That, in my judgment, was the plain
straight-forward statement in the Scriptures.
 While I was yet in my "teens" and attending the
Guilford, (Conn.) Institute a new boy appeared one
day on the campus. "New boys" in the Institute
in those days were rare and would attract the at-
tention of the rest of us anyway, but there were
other reasons why this lad was noticeable.
 He was slender, boyish, aggressive; he had red
hair, blue eyes, freckles; he wore a butternut-brown
jacket with brass buttons, a cherry-red neck-tie,
Navy blue short pants, and black stockings.
 Some one said that he was Ben Mason, a boy who
had been sent by the New Haven Orphan Asylum
to live on a farm in our town and go to school. Ben-
Mason at once became the most interesting person
I had ever met. Coming from an Orphan Asylum
I assumed that he was fatherless and motherless;
I had known boys who had no father; I knew boys
who had no mother; but a fatherless, motherless lad,
so far as I knew, I had never seen before.
 I sought his acquaintance. How did I know but
that I might be ~a friend, a helper of a boy in need
of sympathy and counsel?
 We became friends; he confided in me, I sympa-
thized with him; did not he belong to the class of
boys to whose welfare I was to, devote my life?
 Ben began to tell me of troubles, of heartaches
and discouragements. It never occurred to me to
ascertain whether all of them were genuine, or if
some of them were imaginary, and I do not know.
 But one evening, Ben and I had been walking to-
gether after a week-night meeting, and he had
talked again of trouble and unhappiness. We came
to the place of parting, and he suddenly said:
 "If I had a place in the world to lay my head it
seems to me I couldn't stay there another night."
 My sympathies were stirred to, the depth. How
I would like to help the boy, to extend a helping
hand; to begin, then and there, my life work, though
I was only a student-a boy myself-dependent up-
on father while I studied.
 It all comes back to me now as it has a thousand
times since it happened; I have lived over, again
and again, the thrill of that moment, at the corner
of York Street and State Street, in Guilford, that
Thursday evening.
 I straightened up and said: "Ben, don't ever say
that to me again. Father's house is small, but I
think there's room enough for both of us, but, if
there isn't I'm older than you and will take care of
myself and you can have my place."
 We said "Good Night" and parted.
 The next forenoon I was working alone in father's
potato field, when I heard a familiar voice. Look-
ing in the direction from whence it came I saw Ben.
 "George," he said, "I've come to stay."
 Here was another thrill, but of a somewhat differ-
ent character. There stood the smiling boy who
had stood the night before, with tears in his eyes,
and had told me of his difficulties-the boy with
whom I had promised to share my part of the home
which my father was providing for me; nearby was
father's house; in it was my over-worked mother,
worn out with the burdens of "woman's work that is
never done;" father's house it was and father was
even then engaged in a futile effort to make both
ends meet "so large was his family and so meagre
his income."
 And here was one more for mother to cook for;
one more to share everything in the household-
food, washing, mending, everything.
 And I must needs go to that house and break the
news to father and mother, that without consulting
either of them I had added a growing boy to, the
family.
 Father offered no protest; mother made no ob-
jection, or none that, I ever heard of, and beautiful
to me were the weeks and months that followed
during which Ben and I were inseparable by day
and by night. We worked in the field together;
together we attended the Thursday evening prayer
meeting in the north church; we attended Sunday
services together, and he became a member of the
same Sunday School class, and later he united with
the church which I had joined a year or two before.
We roved the woods together; visited the swimming
hole often; read poetry to each other in odd moments.
 But this could not last always. It began to be
apparent that father's house was not large enough
for both of us; we were not both needed there any-
way, and so, one day I talked with father, and ar-
ranged that I should go and that Ben should stay
in my place.
 Many years had passed. I had entered the min-
istry, the "Good Will Homes and School" had been
founded in Maine; Ben had become a lawyer and
was practising in New York State. I lectured one
evening in Fall River and, in my introductory re-
marks referred to Ben and said:
 "And tonight I say it with pride in my heart, the
boy Ben is a successful lawyer in New York State."
 And when 1 said it I verily believed that I was
speaking the truth.
 The next day, I was on my way to New York city,
traveling over the Shore Line. Having mentioned
Ben the evening before he was much in my thought,
and I was wondering when we would again see each
other. He had written a notable letter to me in
which he had expressed a wish that he might see
Good Will, and, though he had never been at the
place, he had declared that he was once a Good Will
boy, by which he meant that I had extended to him
the helping hand after the same fashion I had, in
later years, extended it to others.
 The through express train on which I was travel-
ing had left New London; we would soon be passing
through Guilford, without making a stop. If I sat
on the other side the car, I could take a look at
the swimming hole where Ben and I used to dive;
I would be able to see the big walnut tree under
which we used to open our dinner pail; I would even
get a glimpse of a part of the shingled roof of fath-
er's house, under which we used to sleep and eat.
 I moved over on that side of the car. The train
rushed through the Shore Line villages-Westbrook,
Clinton, Madison; in a few minutes now I would
have my glimpse at places and things familiar to
Ben and me in the early days.
 The news agent entered the car with New York
daily papers; I took one, dropped the coin into his
hand, and opening the sheet, my eyes fell on this:
    "DIED A VICTOR."
 It told how Mr. B. B. Mason, a lawyer of Keese-
ville, N. Y., had plead a case at court in Plattsburg,
the day before, and when he learned that he had
won the case, he had stepped to the telephone and
had said to his wife "I'm a victor; I'll be home in
the morning." and then he went to the hotel and died
immediately.
 That was my "Ben"; the boy I had taken to
father's house; the first boy to whom I had tried to
extend a helping hand. He was dead; he had "died
a victor."
 My eyes were blinded; I bowed my head in grief,
but I saw no swimming hole, or walnut tree or
shingled roof of father's house that day; when my
vision cleared the train was miles beyond them all.
 Some one sent me a local paper containing Mr.
Mason's biography. It told of his devotion to, his
profession, to his Bible class, to his home, his wife,
his ten year old boy. f said in my heart:
 "How I would like to see Ben's boy. I wonder if
he is like his father; I wonder if Ben ever told his
boy about me."
 I did not go to Keeseville, but whenever I had
opportunity I tried to get knowledge of. Ben's boy,
and his mother. One day, on the shore of Lake
George, contemplating a trip in an effort to find
him, a man told me that his own home was in Platts-
burg, that he had known Mr. and Mrs. Mason, and
had seen the boy, but the mother and the boy had
moved away, and he did not know where they had
gone.
 "It's no use" I said; "I am like Joseph seeking for
his bretheren, in one respect. Some one told Joseph
that his brethren had been heard to say, 'Let us go
to Dothan.'
 The boy and his mother have gone to Dothan,
wherever that may be, and I do not know where
Dothan is. I will never see Ben's boy; but if I
should find him, how do I know that he ever heard
of me. Perhaps he would say:
 'I never heard of you; father never mentioned you
to me, and I know nothing about it. No; I can
never see the lad."
 And I leave him, for the present, in Dothan,
wherever that may be.
 I was living in Bangor, Maine, working under the
auspices of the American Sunday School Union
when I felt that the time had come to take definite
action. Every move I had made, in going to my
first pastorate in West Hartford, Connecticut, and
from thence to a pastorate in Windsor, and from
there to Maine had been made in the belief that I
was taking strides toward the locating of the pro-
posed work. I decided to test out my theory, and to
satisfy myself once for all that it would be possible
for me to do on a larger scale what I had tried, not
only once in Ben's case, but several times since.
 I resolved to take to my home in Bangor the
neediest boy I had ever seen in the state, and I went
six miles out of the city to get him. I would devote
one tenth of my salary toward his support, clothing
and other expenses; I would tell no one what I was
doing, but if I received anything from any source-
cash or anything that could be converted into cash-
I would handle it as coming for the support of the
boy. If at the end of the year I could have cared
for the boy, kept him in school, and have paid his
expenses I ought to be satisfied, but I would not -
but if, out of my "one tenth" and from other sources
I should have a hundred dollars left over as a
nucleus, I would never again doubt but that the
Divine hand would show in the undertaking.
 For instance, wherever I worked for the Ameri-
can Sunday School Union I was requested to take
a collection for it; these collections were small
because I labored in destitute places. But it would
often happen that some good woman would say, as
I would be leaving a place, something like this:
 "I was glad to put all I could into the collection,
and I did it; but want to do something for the mis-
sionary's own personal use; I love to knit, and I
want you to accept this pair of stockings for
yourself."
 Sometimes it would be two or three pairs of
stockings or from one to three pairs of mittens.
Now, I could not use these knitted goods-not all of
them-and, as a matter of fact, according to my
covenant none of them were mine, unless after I had
accepted them, I paid their value into my "Boys'
Fund." Dea. J. C. White, who was a dealer in such
goods agreed to take these gifts at the usual price
then-twenty-five cents a pair-in order that the
money might go toward the provisional one hundred
dollars.
 When a party of friends drove in from Kendus-
keag, and before saying "Good Night" left a little
purse of something more than seven dollars, it was
for my personal use; but it did not belong to me
because I had already covenated that anything like
that should go to the "Fund".
 At the end of the year I had cared for the boy;
had deposited all surplus in the Bangor Savings
Bank, and had over two hundred dollars as a
nucleus.
 Then the first public announcement of my plan
was made. Mrs. S. L. Wing, of Bangor, on New
Year's morning, mailed me a check for fifty dollars,
for the project for boys with wishes for success. I
was the richest man in Bangor that day. There
were other men in the city who had more money
than 1, and there were men who were handling
larger trust funds; but there was not among them
one to whom a check for fifty dollars could speak so
loudly as did Mrs. Wing's check. It said:
 "Go ahead. He will bring to pass."
 One beautiful Sunday I was to preach in Dover,
Maine; as I arose in the morning there was nothing
to indicate that I was to drop a remark, in a brief
conversation, the fruits of which would prove so
abundant. My thoughts that morning were of what
I should say in the pulpit, not of what might be
said on the spur of the moment.
 Mrs. Adah Ober told me that she had heard of
my desire to secure funds to purchase a farm for
boys. She had a class of five boys in the Sunday
School; those boys were in the habit of bringing a
penny each for the collection; she thought they
would be glad to bring an extra penny or two each
Sunday toward the price of a farm; would I ap-
prove of it?
 I suggested to her that she organize her class
into some kind of a club, with a president, a secre-
tary, and a treasurer. I had, in my boyhood, be-
longed to such an organized Sunday School class in
Connecticut, called the "Truth Lovers." We had a
name, and officers and contributed to special objects.
  "What shall I call it?" asked Mrs. Ober.
 I explained that it did not matter what it was
called. If the work was established, as I believed
it would be, it would be done in the spirit of the
gospel; the spirit of the gospel was expressed in the
second chapter of Luke, in the song of the herald
angels-"Peace on earth, good-will to men"-why
not call it a "Good Will Club."
 Mrs. Ober reported to me later that the class had
been organized, and that its name was the May-
flower Good Will Club. Other Good Will clubs fol-
lowed,-the "Mutual," the "Central" and the
"Columbia" in Bangor-though there were never
very many of them. When the farm was pur-
chased a man asked me this:
 "What are you going to call the place? Will it 'be
the 'Hinckley School' or the 'Hinckley Homes' or
what?"
 "Nothing of the kind" I replied; and explained
that, in honor of the boys in the "Good Will Clubs"
who had been sacrificing their pennies and their
nickels, in behalf of the project it should be called
GOOD WILL FARM.
 It came "to pass," for God brought it "to pass",
that in the spring of 1889 1 was able to, purchase
and pay for the "Chase Farm", so called, in the
north eastern corner of the town of Fairfield, Maine.
The farm consisted of one hundred and twenty-five
acres, on the west bank of the Kennebec River, nine
miles north of the city of Waterville. The farm
borders on the Kennebec, is crossed by the Maine
Central Railroad, and the "International Highway"
from Quebec to the Sea; the highway and the rail-
road run parallel and only a few rods apart.
 On the first day of September, the farm-house,
having been duly named "Good Will Cottage" was
opened and three boys took up, their abode, there.
The cottage had been occupied by a party of fifteen
children, six weeks in the summer, but that arrange-
ment was not regarded as a part of the Good Will
idea.
 When Good Will cottage was opened, I announced
that one year from that date we would have another
dedicatory service at the farm; we had no money
in hand-not money enough to, support the three
boy already received for a week-but there was
s
Psalm 37:5.
 It came to pass that, in the year following, we
were able to purchase an acre of land, joining Good
Will Farm on the north; on this land stood a very
small house and a stable. The house was not large
enough for the standard family of fifteen boys and
a matron, but it could be made to accommodate a
matron and seven boys. On the first day of Septem-
ber, 1890, according to the prophecy, we dedicated
"Sunshine Cottage."
 When we dedicated "Sunshine," I announced that,
 one year from that date, we would have another
 dedicatory service; we had no money or pledges, but
 I felt sure the Divine hand was in the undertaking.
 That year money came for a new cottage; the first
new building for the plan-money from all parts of
the country, in sums ranging from five cents to two
hundred and fifty dollars-and, on the first day of
September, we dedicated Golden Rule Cottage.
 When we dedicated Golden Rule Cottage I an-
nounced that one year from that date we would have
another dedicatory service; just how this was to
come "to pass" I did not know, nor could I even
guess; but Psalm 37:5 seemed a good basis for the
prediction.
 That year, quite unexpectedly, we purchased the
Getchell farm, joining Good Will on the south; on
this farm stood a one story house, but the other
buildings were so old they had to be removed. Early
in the summer, we received a legacy, from Mrs.
Susan D. Copeland, Dexter, Maine, which proved to
be just enough to remodel the house, making it two
story with an "el"; and so "Prospect Cottage" was
dedicated on the first day of September.
 When we dedicated "Prospect" I announced that,
one year from that date we would hold another
dedicatory service; we had no money nor pledges
for such a purpose and the only basis for such a
prediction was Psalm 37:5; the fulfilment of this
annual prophecy was becoming more enigmatical
than ever.
 In November of that year Mr. C. M. Bailey, of
Winthrop Centre, Maine, made me a guest one day
at his dinner table, and in the presence of his family
he commissioned me to build a cottage at his expense.
 In January of the same winter, Mr. Hiram H.
Fogg, of Bangor, Maine, passed me a check which
was to be used in paying for another cottage.
 And so it came "to pass" that on the first day of
the following September, at eleven o'clock in the
morning, there were two dedicatory services; it
was my privilege to be at the opening of the service
in "Fogg Cottage" and at the closing of the service
in "Bailey Cottage", and in each place I announced
that one year from that date there would be an-
other dedication at Good Will.
 There would have been, only the Christian En-
deavor Societies of Maine, had decided to raise
funds and build another cottage for the usual num-
ber of boys; this cottage was built that summer,
but at the request of "Endeavorers" who would be
on their way home from the annual convention, in
Auburn, Maine, "Christian Endeavor Cottage" was
dedicated on the last day of August, instead of on
September first.
 In the spring following, I was invited to preach
in the Presbyterian Church in Stamford, Conn. In
that service not a word was spoken about boyhood,
Good Will Farm was not mentioned, but at the close,
Mr. Thomas W. Hall, president of the American
Hide and Leather Company, met me at the pulpit
stairs and extended his hand. I had met him but
once before and then only for a moment. He told
me that he had a good mother; would I be willing to
build a cottage at Good Will in her memory, at his
expense, for the customary family of fifteen boys.
I accepted the commission.
  In November Mr. Hall visited Good Will in order
to be present at the dedication of "Mary Louisa Hall
Cottage." I met him at the station, and noticed
that he was carrying a small package under his arm.
 When we reached the cottage, he asked if we
might be alone for a few moments, and we went into
a room and closed the door. I learned from his
lips then and there, that once he was living on the
farm with his mother in Skaneateles, New York.
When he was sixteen or seventeen years old, he
decided that he must start out. It almost broke
Mother Hall's heart, but the morning he was to
leave, she placed a hand on each of Tom's shoulders
and said:
 "Remember, Tom, that wherever you go, your
mother's prayer will always follow you."
 Fourteen years later, Tom Hall, having succeeded
in business was called back to the farm to his moth-
er's funeral. After the burial, he was wandering
through the house when he opened a chest and mar-
velled at what he found there. Fourteen years
before, when he had left the farm, his mother had
taken his garments of faded blue cotton, which he
had worn when he did his last work on the farm;
she had washed them, ironed them, tied them with
a bit of white ribbon and marked them:
Tom's DRESS SUIT.
"I wonder what made mother do that" he said.
 He took the garments to his home in Stamford
and cherished them there for sixteen years.
 While he was telling me this he had also, been
slowly opening the package he had brought with
him; he suddenly held the garments of blue cotton
before me and explained that he had often looked at
them and as often said:
"I wonder what made mother do it?"
But he had never known until he was preparing
for the trip to dedicate a cottage to her memory,
then he had said:
 "Now I know. Mother did it so these garments
may be placed at Good Will to prove to the boys
there that the man who built this cottage for them
once worked as they must, and made his way in the
world as they must."
 And so, in the vestibule of Hall Cottage are two
objects of interest, viz: A small case, with a glass
front; in it are garments of faded blue; they are
marked "Tom's Dress Suit" and neat by is a memo-
rial window which says:
TO THE MEMORY OF
A GOOD MOTHER
MARY LOUISA HALL
SKANEATELES, N. Y.

 Religious services-preaching and Sunday School
-were first held in the "el" chamber of Good Will
Cottage; tables, hastily constructed of pine boards,
served as school desks. But as school and Sunday
audiences grew a change was necessary, and so the
loft of the stable near Sunshine Cottage was lathed
and plastered, a stair-case was built on the outside,
and the room was used for school building and
chapel.
 Prospect Cottage though intended for a home for
fifteen boys at the time it was remodeled from an old
farm house, was not used f or that purpose. It be-
came necessary to accommodate the Good Will
School in a larger space than the old loft and it was
transferred to "Prospect"; the religious services on
Sunday were transferred to an old meeting house
at Nye's Corner, a mile distant, which had been
closed for five years.
  Conditions in the meeting house were becoming
congested; one Sunday School class was taught in
an ante-room that had no outside window, and
therefore scant light and poor ventilation.
 Conditions in Prospect Cottage, on account of the
growth of the school were becoming intolerable: the
various rooms were crowded; several classes recited
day after day, in the front hall using the stair-case
for seats.
 Then something came "to pass." I received a
letter dated Bath, Maine, and signed "Mary D.
Moody." The letter which was brief requested me
to come to the "estate of the late Charles E. Moody"
at once.
 I did not like the letter; there was something
peremptory about it; I could only guess that she had
heard something about Good Will which was not
satisfactory to her, and that she wished to, rebuke
me. I had never heard of Miss Mary D. Moody; I
had not, to my best recollection, ever heard of
Charles E. Moody.
 But I obeyed the summons, and met Miss Mary D.
Moody, who introduced me to her sister, Miss
Frances E. Moody.
 It was a sad household. Their brother, Mr.
Charles E. Moody, of Boston, Mass., had died sud-
denly, in Detroit, Michigan, on his way home from
the Chicago Exposition; he had left no will, and it
devolved upon his two sisters to dispose of his
property-their inheritance. Neither of the sisters
wished to live; the atmosphere of the home seemed
saturated with gloom; they could see nothing that
would make living worth while; they would dispose
of his property and die. Miss Susan D. Cary, their
companion, a cheerful woman was doing all she
could to change the spirit in the home.
 They had heard Mr. Moody mention Good Will,
and he had expressed his intention of sometime
doing a generous thing for it, but what his plan was
they did not know; was there any building that was
specially needed?
 I explained the situation to them and they at once
decided to build the "Charles E. Moody School
Building" in his memory. The effect of this deci-
sion was almost startling. It was a demonstration
of the worth of a philanthropic purpose-"the ex-
pulsive power of a new affection."
 Miss Mary D. Moody died a month before the
building was dedicated. But Miss Frances E.
Moody began to say:
 "This building will prolong my life ten years."
 It is an interesting fact that she lived ten years,
almost to a day, after she first made the remark.
 When Miss Mary D. Moody died, it was discov-
ered that, before the Charles E. Moody Building
was decided upon-before she wrote the letter ask-
ing me to call-she had made her will and be-
queathed ten thousand dollars to the Good Will
Home Association, to build a suitable memorial to
her brother Charles E. Moody. But, at a cost of
twenty-five thousand dollars, shared equally by her-
self and her sister, the memorial had already been
built.
 The directors of the Good Will Home Association
voted to quit all claim to Miss Moody's legacy, and
her sister at once put five thousand dollars of her
own funds with it to build the "Moody Memorial
Chapel."
 Plans were prepared for the chapel, but when
submitted to Miss Moody a mistake was made which
both Miss Moody and I regretted in the years that
followed. She had asked me to have plans prepared
for such a structure as we would need; but when
the contractors submitted their figures, the lowest
bid was sixteen thousand dollars-a thousand dol-
lars more than she had planned.
 Miss Moody asked me to have the plans cut down
until they would come within the figures she had
designated. I did this reluctantly; I had to, do it,
for Miss Moody had offered us fifteen thousand dol-
lars and I could not wisely tell her that it must be
sixteen thousand dollars or nothing-the chapel
was sorely needed.
 It was completed and dedicated in due time; but
after the first service that Miss Moody attended in
it she saw how nearly filled it was and suddenly
exclaimed:
 "Mr. Hinckley, why did you allow me to cut down
the plans; why didn't you make me build as you
wanted it?"
 But how could I do that? It was her gift, and it
was not for me to insist that she should increase it.
 Each time that she went into the Chapel after
that she asked me the same question:
 "Why didn't you make me build larger?"
 She gave me no hint, however, of what she had
done, but when her own will was probated, it con-
tained a legacy of five thousand dollars for the en-
largement of the Moody Chapel. The five thousand
dollars is adding to itself; architect's plans have
been made which will eventually be used in carrying
out Miss Moody's wishes; but at last reports the
enlargement would cost $12,000. The five thousand
dollars will, in time grow to that amount, but in the
meantime the day may come when it will cost less
than the figures last named.
 I had often been asked why I did not open homes
for girls similar to those for boys; I had as often
said:
 "If any one will come forward with ten thousand
dollars, or even five thousand dollars to begin a
work for girls, we will buy the Spaulding farm a
mile from the boys' homes, we will then want the
Blackwell farm midway between the two, on which
some one will build us a chapel. But as for deposit-
ing a paltry dollar in the savings bank, and waiting
for it to increase, the way I did for the boys, I am
not going to do it; I won't do it."
 The ten thousand dollars did not come; the five
thousand dollars was not offered, but one day some-
thing happened, and before I tell it, I must make
two statements: First, when a boy comes to Good
Will he is likely to be homesick; I expect it. I
haven't much confidence in a boy who can be
dropped down in a community a hundred miles, five
hundred miles, or even fifty miles from all familiar
scenes, if he does not, in a few days find himself long-
ing to hear a familiar voice, or to see a familiar
face, nor have I any respect for a homesick boy who
fails to brace up and live down his homesickness.
Second: there is only one woman in each of the
boys' cottages, and therefore much of the housework
is done by the smaller boys. In each cottage there
are dish boys, sweeps, bed-makers and the like. For
many years there was a rule, that if a boy washed
or wiped dishes two weeks in succession without
breaking a dish he would receive five cents. This
money was not regarded as wages; it was only a
reward for carefulness in handling dishes. But as
a matter of fact, these nickels were about all the
money some of the boys saw from month to month.
 One day a boy, nine years old, came to Good Will
from Bangor, Maine. "He was the only son of his
mother and she was a widow." When he had been
with us three or four days he became desperately
homesick.
 He came to me and said:
 "If my mother should send for me to come back
to Bangor could I go?"
 "Your mother won't send for you," I replied.
 "I know; but if my mother should send for me?"
he persisted.
 "Howard," I replied "you are your mother's boy;
if she should send for you, of course I would let
you go."
 The boy seemed abundantly satisfied with my
reply, and I did not understand it at the time. But
I understood better the next day, when the boy was
seen crossing the field from the little Good Will
Railroad station toward the cottage where he lived.
He said to the matron:
 "You can't guess who I saw when the train
stopped this morning."
 "Howard," said the matron, "the train didn't
stop."
 "It did stop" persisted the boy.
 "Howard I was looking out of the window when
the train passed and it didn't stop and-"
 "Well, I don't care" burst out the boy "it did stop,
and my uncle got off the train and handed me this
letter from mother; she's awful sick."
 Now the letter was written on soiled paper; it
was written with a lead pencil; the hand writing
was curiously like that of a nine year old boy, but it
was dated Bangor, Maine, and it read as follows:

"My dear Howard:
 I am very sick; I am not able to write this letter. I
have got Alice Black to write for me. She says she
can write quite well. I want you to come home just
as soon as you can. It won't cost you anything to
come on the train. Perhaps you think Alice Black
didn't write this letter; perhaps you think Howard
wrote it.
 Your loving mother,
P. S. Come quick."

 The boy was sent up to the third floor of Bailey
Cottage; in those days to be sent to the third floor
of a cottage was the severest punishment that could
be meeted out to a boy, except that, in some cases a
boy in the attic would be visited by the Supervisor.
I was the Supervisor and I paid a visit to the lad,
though I do not need to tell what happened after I
got there.
 Six weeks passed. The boy had recovered from
his homesickness and had taken his place among the
other boys and had performed his assigned tasks.
 One day he entered my office and told me that he
and Watson Kilcup had been on dishes two weeks
and neither of them had broken a dish; each would
have five cents coming to him "as soon as the matron
could make out an order"; they had talked it over
and had decided to give the two nickles-the ten
cents-"so that girls can have just as good homes as
we boys have".
 I had been quite emphatic in my refusal to con-
sider a project for girls' homes unless a generous
gift-$10,000 or at least $5,000-should be forth-
coming. No such gift had been received, but I
turned to my secretary and announced that the work
for the girls was commenced.
 The story of the nickels was told in the Good Will
Record and a few days after it was mailed I re-
ceived a letter containing two dimes-a dime for
each of the boys who had sacrificed his all for the
girls' homes. I saw one of the boys near the office
and, calling him, I read the letter and passed him the
dime; without a moment's hesitation the boy said:
 "Put it in with the rest, it will all help."
 The men's class in the Congress Street Methodist
Church, Portland, Me., sent a hundred dollars to be
added to the nucleus for this new undertaking.
 Then, one day Hon. E. S. Converse of Malden,
Mass., arrived at Good Will. He asked me to show
him about; I conducted him from place to place but
I did not feel that there was very much to show
such a man. I had met Mr. Converse but once be-
fore, but he had become interested in Good Will
through Mr. George Henry Quincy of Boston one of
the Trustees of the Good Will Home Association
who was devoting much time and energy to the
Good Will idea.
 Mr. Converse seemed to be much pleased with the
location; he seemed to see possibilities, and sitting
down in my home he asked what I would like to have
him do. I was not prepared for such a question;
no one had ever asked me anything like that; there
were so many things needed that f or a moment I
was at a loss.
 But I told him the story of the nickels and the
dimes, and explained that, if the plans for girls were
carried out we would need the Spaulding farm for
the homes, and the Blackwell farm for the Chapel.
What I mentioned to him amounted to seven thou-
sand three hundred dollars; I had not asked Mr.
Converse for it but he had asked me for the oppor-
tunity. A check for the amount-$7,300-was
drawn and this genial, generous helper in the day
of small things, returned to Massachusetts.
 Hardly had the purchase of the two farms been
made, and the deeds secured, when Mr. and Mrs.
Walter M. Smith of Stamford, Conn., expressed a
wish that they might build the first cottage for
girls,-a home for fifteen, in memory of their
daughter, Elizabeth Wilcox Smith-and in due time
the structure was completed and dedicated.
 No one seemed to doubt that other cottages would
come "in process of time"; and it came to pass that,
at the annual convention of the State Granges, held
in Bangor, Maine, it was proposed that the Granges
of Maine follow the example of Christian Endeavor
Societies and provide a home for girls to be called
"Grange Cottage."
 The various Granges of the State took hold of the
matter cheerfully and with . enthusiasm; Grange
Cottage was built and dedicated. A few years later
the Granges of Maine created a "Grange Scholar-
ship" of three thousand dollars, the interest to be
used annually for the support of some deserving girl.
 The one story farm house which was standing on
the Spaulding place when it was purchased, was
called the "White House"--chiefly because it had
once been painted white and the paint had disap-
peared-and was used for a school-house for girls
until one day on a Maine Central train Mr. A. N.
Ryerson of Noroton, Conn., asked if I would like an-
other cottage for girls.
 I explained to Mr. Ryerson that our greatest need
on the girls' farm, aside from money for current
expenses was a school building. Mr. and Mrs.
Ryerson decided to provide such a building in
memory of their daughter, Emily Fox Ryerson.
The "White House" was moved away, and upon its
site the Emily F. Ryerson Building, often called
Ryerson Hall, in due time was dedicated.
 One day Mr. Amos L. Prescott of New York City
sent to Good Will a check for fifty dollars. I did
not know Mr. Prescott, but one day while in New
York I made my way into his office to say "Thank
you." The man seemed pleased that I had called
and said:
 "If it will be a satisfaction to you I will see that
you have a similar check the first of each month
until further notice."
 From the beginning I had hoped to have manual
training at Good Will; but had often said that it
should not be undertaken with less than fifty thou-
sand dollars; of the fifty thousand we would use
twenty thousand for a suitable building and equip-
ment, and the remainder-$30,000-should be the
nucleus of a special endowment fund for its sup-
port.
 When the time came to launch the manual train-
ing project Mr. Amos L. Prescott was a generous
contributor. Judge Nathaniel Hobbs of North
Berwick, Mr. Walter M. Smith of Stamford, Conn.,
and Mr. A. N. Ryerson of Noroton, were deeply
interested, contributing generously and the condi-
tional fifty thousand dollars was either given by
them or secured among their personal friends. The
building committee decided to move Prospect Cot-
tage from its site and locate the new building in its,
place. "Prospect" was remodelled at considerable
expense, more than doubled in size and named the
"Buckminster." It was changed into a dormitory
for about thirty boys.
 In my estimates of manual training I had not
included the cost of moving and remodelling Pros-
pect, but the committee was spending its own
money,-money which it had given or secured from
personal friends. I could see perils ahead, but there
was nothing I could say or do to prevent.
 The two buildings-the "Quincy" named in honor
of Mr. George Henry Quincy of Boston, and the
dormitory named in honor of Mr. and Mrs. N. T.
Buckminster of Saco, Maine, were paid for before
they were dedicated, but of the fifty thousand dol-
lars only five thousand dollars remained to yield
support for this one department.
 The Buckminster quickly filled to its capacity;
the "Quincy" became a busy, inspiring place. Wood-
working, forging, basketry, book-binding, weaving
were some of the branches taught; but the addi-
tional thirty boys in Buckminster, the expense of
materials for manual training, including the run-
ning of a twenty horse-power engine, the salaries of
two men teachers proved to be a heavy sag; with-
out the expense of the "Buckminster," or with in-
come from a thirty thousand dollar endowment it
would not have been so bad.
 With the appearance of the world-war cloud, the
Buckminster was "closed for repairs", and the
manual training department' was suspended on ac-
count of "lack of funds." The natural history
museum is located in the Quincy; the music depart-
ment occupies the Buckminster ' but either one or
both of these arrangements may be only tem-
porary.
 On the eve of the tenth anniversary of its dedica-
tion the Charles E. Moody Building became a total
loss from fire; with the building went a natural his-
tory museum of great interest and value; a library
that had begun with twelve books from my own
collection of less than a hundred and had grown to
a library of five thousand volumes.
 The fire occurred on Saturday night. 'The next
day I made the disaster the subject of my discourse
at the Sunday afternoon service, and predicted the
speedy rebuilding of the "Moody."
 While the audience was singing the closing hymn
an idea occurred to me and, instead of pronouncing
the benediction, I asked all to be seated.
 In Clinton, Conn., there is a monument, in memory
of certain Congregational ministers of the Say-
brook Colony, who assembled one day, a long time
ago, at that place and each deposited a book or books
from his own library upon a table and said:
 "I give these books to found a College."
 That was the beginning of Yale University. The
simple memorial was an inspiration to me in earlier
days-the days of boyhood.
 I told the people in the chapel, dispirited and de-
pressed as we all were by the loss of the educational
equipment and the splendid building, that on the
following Wednesday evening the chapel would be
warmed and lighted; that after a hymn and a
prayer, I would place a volume on the table in front
of the pulpit and say "I give this book to found a
library", and any others who wished to do it might
follow the example.
 Wednesday evening came; the program was car-
ried out and at the close about two hundred volumes
had been given. A new Good Will library had been
founded. Many of the boys and girls brought one
or more books, and going to the front repeated the
formula. Then a boy went forward with an arm-
full and said:
 "I give these eighteen books to found a library."
 A few days after this memorable meeting, that
boy's mother wrote me that her son, in giving those
eighteen volumes had parted with all he had; the
books he had presented were gifts from his grand-
mother and other relatives; would I be willing that
he should have the books back again, if she would
send eighteen volumes to take their place. My re-
ply stated that her boy should have the books back
again, but that she need not bother to send any to
take their place; Good Will would have a library
anyway.
 I sent for the boy and read the letter to him. The
boy stood before me in a determined, half defiant
attitude and said:
 "My mother is a good woman but she has some
queer notions in her head; one of them is that I am
going to take those books back, but I gave them to
Good Will and I'll never take them back-not one of
them."
 The nucleus of a library formed that night has
grown-1921-to over fifteen thousand volumes.
 Miss C. 1. Sage, of Guilford, Conn., read of the
loss, of the old and the founding of the new library
and wrote that, in memory of her nephew, Willie
Sage Tuttle who died some forty years before, she
would give a book fund of ten thousand dollars, the
income to be used annually, for the purchase of
books if some one would give a building to shelter
them.
 Mr. Andrew Carnegie, departed from one of the
principles that had governed him in all the years of
his giving and provided the building.
 Thus were things brought "to pass."
 I never knew why I was invited to give the chief
address at the dedication of the Edwin Bancroft
Foote Boys' Club Building in New Haven, Conn., or
why I was invited at all; I mean that I do not know
on what basis the invitation was extended. I had
never met Mr. Edwin Bancroft Foote; I could not
give an address of sufficient interest or importance
to call me from Good Will to New Haven; the pro-
gram was so varied that the thought of being on
it frightened me.
 The Secretary of the Yale University Corpora-
tion would preside; the Yale Glee Club would sing;
the prayer would be offered by a Jewish Rabbi; a
Catholic priest would make a speech; a well known
Socialist leader would speak; the audience would
include several hundred of New Haven's best peo-
ple and about three hundred boot blacks and news-
boys-these latter to occupy seats reserved for
them; it was hoped that I would give the dedicatory
address.
 I had no objection to the program, or the audi-
ence as described in the letter; but conscious that I
was not the man for the place I instinctively shrank
from it.
 Later, I received a letter stating that as I could
not do it, Mr. Jacob Riis of New York City had been
secured for the task. In acknowledging this letter,
which was simply an unexpected and unnecessary
kindness to me, I wrote that if I could know the
exact hour of the dedication, I might be able to
attend-not to take any part in the exercises-but
because of an interest which had been aroused in
me through the correspondence. The exact date-
the day and the hour-was forwarded to me by
mail.
 And then, a few days before the time set, I was
notified that Mr. Jacob Riis was very sick in the
Middle West; he was obliged to cancel his appoint-
ment, and as I was going to be in the vicinity at the
time, anyway, I would have to give the dedicatory
address.
 Twenty minutes before the time set for the ser-
vices, I was introduced to Mr. Foote, in his, room in
the Y. M. C. A. building in New Haven. A con-
versation, as nearly as I can recall it took place as
follows:
 "Really, Mr. Foote, I don't know why I am here;
I hope it will prove to be Providential."
 "Providential!" exclaimed Mr. Foote, with some
show of impatience, "Providential! Some people are
always talking about special Providences; who
knows whether there is such a thing as a special
Providence; I don't and I don't believe anybody
does."
 The program was carried out in full. The next
morning, just before going to the train to leave the
city I called on Mr. Foote.
 "I'm so ashamed" he exclaimed, "and I owe you
an apology. Some one gave me a copy of the Story
of Good Will Farm last night and I read it through
before I went to sleep,.; its full of special Provi-
dences."
 Soon after the dedication Mr. Foote left New
Haven and went to Rangeley, Maine, to spend the
winter. He sent me a fifty dollar check for Good
Will. I went to Rangeley to thank him for it. He
handed me a check for three hundred dollars.
 I didn't come here to ask for funds for Good
Will" I said; "I never call on a person for such a
purpose."
"I know it" responded Mr. Foote, "I know you
don't; and if you had asked me for money you
wouldn't have got a cent-not a red cent; I'm not
going to help Good Will any more anyway but I just
wanted to do this, and I did it."
 Just before saying "good-bye" to Mr. Foote, as I
was to take a very early train the next morning, I
recalled that I had in my pocket, a letter, handed
me as I was taking the train at Good Will to go to
Rangeley; it had been marked "personal" so no one
but myself would open it, and I had perused it on
the train. I asked Mr. Foote if he would like to
hear a part of it, and he assured me he would, but
with the understanding that he was not to know the
name of the writer of it. The letter was from a
former Good Will boy, a graduate of the Good Will
High School, who was working his way through
Dartmouth College, and was meeting some discour-
agements, which nevertheless, he was facing brave-
ly. A part of the letter ran thus:
 "I have a mother, 0 God, a mother? No, not a
mother! It makes the tears come to my eyes to think
of it. I know not whether she is living or not, but I
live in the hopes that she is living. Some day I want
to say, 'Look! you left me when I was a youngster.
Look'! Then I can forgive.
 I had a father, he's dead and gone now. He always
loved me. He always did all he could for me. I
realized it even when I was a little fellow and many
a time while at Good Will I've cried in bed over his
sorrow and hard life. I don't think he ever knew it.
When I wrote that composition 'Myself in 1918', 1
could see as plain as day, my house and father's home.
That dream is all gone. But my father is still in my
mind. Many the time the thought of him has kept
me from going wrong. I look ahead, I want posi-
tion; I want honor. I want to say to father 'Look!
this is how I loved you. I am what I am for your
sake. I wanted to honor you'.
 That is why I am self-centered as I am. I do not
mean to be selfish. But these are thoughts which
are stirring my mind. I have not talked like this to
anybody else. I don't know why I do now. But
every once in a while I have to sit and weep. It comes
on me as a spell. Some one caught me at it once.
I feel it tonight as I think of your letter. Sometimes
it comes over me with a thud, all these thoughts. I
take up a paper as I did the other day and catch my
eye on a poem, 'A mother's loving words to her boy'.
I throw aside the paper and think, 'What have I
missed I can't tell, I have only a faint idea of what
a mother is or can be. No, something is lacking,
I feel it more and more, and I throw aside the paper
and laugh. It would not do to think on it.
 I look ahead with such a longing for a home of my
own. I want someone to love me. I could do any-
thing for them. Then I wonder, 'Will my home
break up? Shall I be unhappy then?' And I shudder
to think of it.
 My life seems to be a quandary. But I live with
the thought uppermost, as Shakespeare expresses
'To be or not to be'. But with me it is 'To be'. I
write this in a personal way to, you. It is confiden-
tial. Perhaps I may never amount to anything. But
I do see a chance on the other side, that chance is the
one I am grasping for. If I slip and lose my hold,
it is fate. However, my eye is on that chance. You
will understand me now. You have been the great-
est factor in making me whatever I am and I want to
say to you 'Look! I am an honor to you and Good
Will'. Of course I am under God's will. My will is
His will.
Your loving friend."

 "That's a fine letter" remarked Mr. Foote when
I had finished reading; I agreed with him and said
"Good Night" and took the five-thirty train in the
morning for home.
 Two weeks later I received a letter from Mr.
Edwin Bancroft Foote; it was dated at Rangeley,
Maine, and it stated that an idea had struck him
with great force; he wished Me to join him at the
hotel at the earliest possible moment to tell him what
I thought of it.
 Responding to the call, I learned that, after listen-
ing to the reading of the student's letter, he had
retired for the night, but he had not been able to
sleep at all; the idea had occurred to him that he
would do for Good Will what no one had ever done
up to that time, viz: He would build a home for
boys at Good Will in memory of his parents; he
would equip it, provide a fund of a few thousand
dollars the interest to be used for repairs, and he
would add to this a scholarship of three thousand
dollars each for as many boys as the home would
accommodate. Mr. Foote eventually gave ten thou-
sand dollars for the building of the Bancroft-Foote
House, forty-five thousand dollars in scholarships,
and several thousand dollars for a repair fund.
 There are some people who believe in special
Providences; there are people who believe that God
brings to pass; Psalm 37:5 states that such a thing
is at least possible.
WINTHROP
 Mr. C. M. Bailey, who was the first to make the
gift of a building-Bailey Cottage--had watched
the outcome of his gift with interest and apparently
with pleasure; he had often said, in public and in
private, that Bailey Cottage at Good Will Farm was
one of the very best investments he had ever made
and on a few occasions he had said he counted it
his best.
 Just twenty years after he had instructed me to
build that home at his expense I chanced to meet
him at a railroad station. He was leaving a train
which I was about to take. There was only a mo-
ment; the interview was brief and hurried, but when
the train started he had asked if we could use an-
other cottage at Good Will, I had assured him we
could, and he had instructed me to build. This
second cottage, from his hands was named "Win-
throp" after the town in which he was born and in
which his life was spent.
 Mr. Edwin Bancroft Foote had set an example; it
was to be followed again and again, but no one
knows where the end will be.
 On a trip to Atlanta, Georgia, to attend a Con-
vention, I had met Mr. Tracy W. McGregor of
Detroit, Michigan. After the Bancroft-Foote
House had been opened for a time, Mr. McGregor
wrote that Mrs. McGregor and he had talked of
building a home for boys at Good Will after the
manner of the Bancroft-Foote House, and asked
what were the next steps to be taken. This addi-
tion to the Good Will plant was given in memory of
Mrs. McGregor's father, David Whitney, of Detroit,
Michigan; the endowment of forty-five thousand
dollars, and the repair fund accompanied the gift.
GUILFORD
 At one time it was proposed that money be raised
in Guilford, Conn., my native town, for a cottage to
be called the "Guilford". The proposition was very
embarrassing to me personally-so much so that it
kept me out of the place of my nativity f or nearly
two years; I declared that I could not and would not
visit the town while any such canvass was in pro-
gress; in my judgment the fact that I had been born
there was no reason why the people of the town
should be urged to build a cottage at Good Will Farm
in Maine. But the project was launched and so far
as I knew it was received much more cordially than
I had feared it might be; the editor of the "Shore
Line Times", the pastors of the churches and some
of the more prominent citizens favored the project
and worked in its behalf and great credit is due all
of them. There were some generous contributions;
a good many gave all that they were able but the
canvass was not fully successful; the cost of the
"Guilford "-$7,000-was in part provided for out-
side the town, but it is a beautiful home for boys, in
a fine location, and it is a home which would never
have been built, had not the canvass in the Connec-
ticut town been undertaken.
 Mrs. Caroline G. Redington sent me from Brook-
lyn, New York, a check for fifty dollars for Good
Will. I acknowledged the contribution by letter.
Mrs. Redington sent another check, in due time-a
check for two hundred dollars; and so, one day
while in New York I went to Brooklyn to call on
her-a call of appreciation. I had never met Mrs.
Redington nor did I know anything about her aside
from the fact that she had sent these checks. In
the interview she told me that, in her will she had
provided for a home for girls at Good Will, after the
manner of the Bancroft-Foote House and the Whit-
ney Home for boys, and also for an endowment of
forty-five thousand dollars as Mr. Foote and Mrs.
McGregor had done.
 Some time later Mrs. Redington informed me
that she had decided to have the pleasure of seeing
this home in memory of her parents built and in use
while she lived. The completion, and dedication
and occupancy of the Redington-Gilman was a
source of great pleasure and satisfaction to her;
but she did not allow it to be known, even to, her
closest friends during her life time that she was the
donor of this home for girls and its endowment.
 In 1915 Mr. Amos L. Prescott, of New York,
opened a new era in the Story of Good Will. For
many years he had been a monthly contributor; he
had given generously toward one or two building
projects, notably the "Quincy;" he had furnished
the purchasing price of a farm which had added
greatly to the foundations for the contemplated
larger work of the future; in each case he had known
of the possibility and, probably, also, of my desires,
but I had not directly solicited his assistance.
 The opening of a new era came with Mr. Prescott's
gift of a much needed administration building. He
gave this in memory of his parents, James L. and
Harriet A. Prescott; it was the largest gift thus far
in Good Will's history and the finest building in
possession of the Good Will Home Association.
 This structure was given a central location be-
cause of its character and the fact that it was to
house 'so many interests; Golden Rule Cottage was
moved to another, but equally desirable, location in
order that the "Capitol" might have open frontage
and an unobstructed view.
 This administration building-the Prescott Me-
morial-contained the office of the Good Will Home
Association, grocery store, dental office, bakery, staff
room, barber shop, fire proof vaults; the hall had
seven hundred and fifty sittings. The equipment
included a tower clock a moving-picture booth, a
pipe organ; the dental office was provided with an
up-to-date outfit through the generosity of Mr.
Prescott's sons-in-law, the Doctors Tracy of New
York City.
 At the same time Mr. Prescott arranged the build-
ing of about a mile of macadamized driveways and
walks on Good Will Farm so that his gift amounted
to about one hundred thousand dollars.
 I have said that this gift of roads and buildings
opened a new era at Good Will, and this is quite
true. A new atmosphere was created; the dignified
administration building, the driveways made beau-
tiful with a generous planting of ornamental shrubs;
the clock in the tower striking the hours; the splen-
did pipe organ-all these and more-seemed to, point
to greater things for humanity in the future. These
things were not the end but they were the means by
which the chief aims of the Good Will Home Asso-
ciation might be reached.
 The seating capacity of the hall in the Prescott
Memorial had been placed at seven hundred and
fifty in order to provide for a possible five hundred
young people on the first floor and two hundred and
fifty visitors in the balcony; plans for the enlarge-
ment of the Moody Chapel to be made with money
left for the purpose by Miss Moody, the donor, had
been drawn to a corresponding scale--seven hun-
dred and fifty sittings.
 Prospects had never been so bright. The work,
in the dimensions which it had reached, was carried
on more efficiently and more easily than ever before;
still larger and better things could be seen above the
horizon.
 Then disaster came. Pessimists claim that mis-
fortunes never come singly, they insist that disas-
ters come in broods.
 War prices bore down heavily on Good Will as
upon all similar institutions, crippling the work;
while Good Will's needs were increasing daily, vari-
ous campaigns and drives followed in quick suc-
cession and held public attention-Government
bonds, Y. M. C. A., Red Cross, Interchurch; these
were quickly followed by drives in behalf of older
and stronger institutions than Good Will-all of
which were in a more or less crippled condition; it
seemed as though Good Will was in danger of being
forgotten entirely; the income had been decreasing
rather than increasing. All this was disheartening
enough if one is willing to become disheartened.
 It was suggested that we retrench; that we close
one cottage, two cottages, three cottages, but how
could we do that?
 In the midst of these most trying days, on the
twenty-eighth of June, 1920, the Prescott Building
w s destroyed by fire; the fire was attributed to
electricity.
 A collection of valuable paintings was saved; most
of the moveable equipment was carried from the
structure, but the organ, clock, and other fittings
were lost.
 To a casual observer this might seem like an over-
whelming disaster; but the history of Good Will re-
mained, the principles upon which it was founded
were unchanged; methods which had been crowned
with success were still available; only one building
had been lost, and we could still conduct the homes
and schools for those for whom they had been found-
ed, though the work was crippled in many ways and
made increasingly difficult.
 The insurance on the Prescott, would have been
sufficient to re-build but for the "war-prices" which
had come on so suddenly; as it was the insurance
was entirely inadequate though the entire amount
was paid.
 Between the amount received from insurance
companies and the cost of replacing the building
there was a sad discrepancy; the difference would
amount to many thousands of dollars.
 At this juncture one of the most notable things
in Good Will's history came to pass. Mr. Prescott
volunteered to, stand between the amount available
from insurance, and the cost of rebuilding. And so,
the Administration Building, with a few minor
changes, was rebuilt in the winter of 1921-22.
 On the evening of June 3rd, 1922, the Good Will
community and friends gathered for the formal re-
opening of the Prescott Memorial. The following
account is taken from the July, 1922, number of the
Good Will Record:
 "After the visitors were seated, the schools en-
tered the hall noiselessly-not a sound of music or a
foot-fall being heard. Promptly at the moment as-
signed, the entire audience sang America. The
programme was in charge of Supervisor W. P.
Hinckley who read eleven verses from the thirty-
seventh Psalm, after stating that the same portion
of scripture had been read at each and every dedica-
tion, the laying of corner stones and the breaking
of ground for new buildings, since Good Will was
founded. 'My Faith Looks Up to Thee' and 'How
Firm a Foundation' were sung by the congregation;
the schools sang 'I will answer with the best that's
in me;'the prayer was offered by Rev. F. F. Foshay,
of Fairfield.
 "Mr. G. W. Hinckley explained that he would say
nothing in his address which was not recorded on
the paper which he held in his hand, for the reason
that he wished the donor of the building, Mr. Amos
L. Prescott, of New York City, to know exactly what
was being said at that hour, and he had forwarded
a copy of the brief address to him. Mr. Hinckley
then continued:
 "'The formal re-opening of the Administration
Building, this evening, is an extraordinary event; in
its details it is probably unique in the history of
institutions.
 "'In 1915, Mr. Amos L. Prescott made two notable
and unsolicited gifts to the Good Will Home Asso-
ciation. First, an administration building, in honor
of his parents, James L. and Harriet M. Prescott, to
be known as the Prescott Memorial; it was built and
equipped at a cost of about $75,000; second, about
a mile of macadamized roads and walks, costing ap-
proximately $25,000. The Prescott Memorial was
not for the present needs alone, of Good Will, but it
was intended to meet the requirements of a steadily
developing Good Will; its equipment was perfect-
the best that could be secured.
 "'On the morning of June 28th, 1920, the building
was destroyed by fire; only the foundation and the
brick walls remained. A telegram was sent to Mr.
Prescott; just how the news affected the donor of
the beautiful structure, I do not know; to Good Will
and friends of Good Will it seemed an almost crush-
ing disaster.
 "Mr. Prescott's reply contained these words:
 "'We will rebuild.'
 "Yes, we would rebuild; of course the structure
must be replaced, but when and how? There were
two ways. The insurance upon the building was
ample at the time it was placed, but in the meantime
the world war had increased the cost of building,
enormously, and the funds forthcoming from the
insurance companies would be entirely inadequate.
We could wait for the insurance funds, carefully
invested, to increase until sufficient to replace the
building in its original dignity and perfect equip-
ment, but the institution would be crippled for a
long time; or, we could receive the insurance and
rebuild and equip on such a scale as the amount
would allow, but this would mean a pitiful apology
in place of the stately structure which the donor had
planned and presented. There was still another
possibility; but it was not one that we had any right
to expect or hope. But this third possibility devel-
oped into a reality, and, therefore, we are assembled
here this evening. At Mr. Amos L. Prescott's sug-
gestion, the available funds for rebuilding and
equipping the structure were turned over to him; he
proposed to use them in the work of retrieving Good
Will's fortune, and when those funds were exhaust-
ed, he would supply the deficiency-he would stand
in the gap; he gave instructions that, aside from a
few changes which might be an improvement in the
arrangement of the original building, it was to be
exactly reproduced. The changes were chiefly in
the basement floor, where provision was made for a
chemical fire-engine and fire-fighting apparatus
which has been installed; a re-arrangement of gro-
cery store and offices and a kitchen in place of the
bakery-the bakery having been installed in a sep-
arate building. The first floor, front, or main floor,
is unchanged, but the organ was manufactured by a
different firm, and a fixed console substituted for the
movable one in the first building. On the second
floor, front, a new and greatly appreciated feature
has been added-a small hall to be used for meet-
ings of less than one hundred persons, for class re-
unions, Y. M. C. A. meetings and kindred gather-
ings. This is to be known as 'Tracy Hall' in honor
of Mr. Prescott's sons-in-law, Dr. William D., and
Dr. Martin C. Tracy, of New York City, who fur-
nished the equipment for the dental office in the
first structure and who have replaced it, regardless
of expense, in the new.
 "And so, tonight, the Prescott Building is formally
reopened; just what it has cost the generous, whole-
hearted donor may never be made public; but the
architect of the building, Mr. Edgar A. Josselyn, of
New York, in a recent interview, told me that the
cost of rebuilding, notwithstanding the fact that the
foundations and walls remained, would be about
equal to the original structure; in other words, the
edifice we are now occupying represents the cost of
two such buildings and their equipment. Such
princely generosity is worthy of all praise; it is an
illustration of loyalty to an ideal; it is the fruit of a
genuine philanthropic spirit.
 "Mr. Prescott cannot be with us tonight. At the
dedication of the original building he delivered an
address characteristic of the man, and he has re-
quested me to read that address this evening. On
that occasion Mr. Prescott said:
 " 'Three reasons prompted the erection of this
building; that it might perpetuate the memory and
honor the name of a revered father and mother;
that it might facilitate the service here rendered
humanity; that it might aid in stimulating the inter-
est of others in like service.
 "'My father and mother devoted their lives to a
family of nine children into whose minds and hearts
they ever sought to instil the fear of God, and
worthy purposes and aspirations in life. It is,
therefore, fitting that a memorial to them should be
erected here, where it may be of use in similar ser-
vice. To that purpose this building is dedicated.
 "'The location of this memorial, in connection with
this institution, is because of what it has already
done, of what it is now doing, and of a desire to see
its work and usefulness largely extended. It is safe
to predict that the future of this institution, like its
past, will be most largely determined by the devo-
tion and earnestness of its individual workers and
supporters, as well as by the record of those who
come under its care and influence. But this very
record itself is to be chiefly determined by its in-
dividual workers; by its matrons in the home; by
its teachers in their various spheres.
 "'The wise selection, direction and encouragement
of these teachers and house-mothers, of the business
management in the office, on the farm and in other
branches of the work, rest upon the management,
upon the Supervisor and his assistants. Their ex-
perience and success in the past, give great promise
for the future, and so there is strong reason to look
for still greater things.
 "'To this end, I am happy to make this contribu-
tion, and to deliver to you, Sir, as a representative of
this Institution, these keys, in token of the full and
complete transfer of this building, together with
what I trust may be a sufficient endowment to meet
every expense of whatever nature, in its mainten-
ance and administration.'
 "After the address there was a demonstration
which must have moved the heart of the man, as we
are sure it did. He is not here to witness it or to
listen to it this evening but we can wire him that
Good Will's appreciation is not lessened-yea, that
it is increased a hundred fold by his unstinted ex-
penditure in replacing the building and opening the
way for Good Will's development, which has been
temporarily hindered by the conditions resulting
from the world war, and by the disaster that over-
took us on the morning of June 28th, 1920.
 "Mr. Hinckley then stated that the demonstration
which he had referred to, was called the 'Good Will
Salute;' that it consisted of the original 'Chautauqua
Salute' but in place of white handkerchiefs, Good
Will's colors, orange and black, were used. The
schools, occupying the front half of the auditorium
then rose, each person, waving a piece of orange or
black bunting, the solid mass being orange with a
thin border of black about the edges.
'Prescott's the man for us, Prescott's the man
He did the thing and he did it well,
Prescott's the man.'
with its repetitions was sung with great enthusiasm,
the pieces of bunting keeping time to the rhythm of
the song, then there was silence while the demon-
stration with bunting was repeated and then the
schools again broke into the song and sang it
through the second time. As soon as this was fin-
ished, Joseph Shea, cheer-leader, was on the stage
and called for a 'rouser' for 'Mr. Prescott;' this was
given with a will.
 "The Supervisor then announced that the remain-
der of the evening would be devoted to a recital on
the Prescott Memorial Organ by Cecil M. Daggett,
assisted by Miss Evelyn Flanders, Miss Inez Arm-
strong and Mrs. John Choate, all of Waterville. An
hour of great enjoyment for all present followed.
Mr. Daggett demonstrated the power and capacity
of the splendid instrument; the vocalists were en-
thusiastically received and each and every number
received an encore to which the vocalist cheerfully
responded."
 Many years had passed since the day I extended
a helping hand to the boy Ben and since I had read,
on the train, the account of his tragic death,
when one evening I gave the opening address at a
State Boys' Conference in Concord, N. H. After
the address an unusually large number of delegates
came forward to greet the speaker. The long line
was passing, just a hand clasp and a word of greet-
ing for each comer, when one of the delegates with-
holding his hand for the instant, said:
 "Are you Mr. Hinckley from Maine?"
 I answered that he had my name correctly and
that I was from the Pine Tree State.
 To this he replied:
 "You don't know me, but you will know who I am
when I tell you that I am your Ben's boy."
 "What?" I exclaimed "You my Ben's boy" and
there was a mist in my eyes like that years before
when I had read, on the train, that Ben had "died a
victor."
 The next day Ben's boy and I dined together at the
Eagle Hotel in Concord and after a long, wonderful
interview we parted.
 A year later the State Y. M. C. A. Committee
wrote inviting me to the next boys' conference. I
replied that my hands and heart were full and that
I could not take time for the journey that year. I
thought that settled it; but a few days later I re-
ceived a letter from Ben's boy saying that the time
from then to the conference could not pass quickly
enough to suit him. Apparently he was assuming
that I had accepted the invitation of the State
Committee.
 I wrote at once to the committee that I had
changed my mind; that I had heard from Ben's boy
and I would be present and give the opening-address
as I had been requested.
 The night for the opening of the address came; the
banquet preceeded the formal opening of the Con-
ference; at the banquet Ben's boy was elected presi-
dent and at eight o'clock he introduced me to the
New Hampshire boys there assembled.
 As I look back over the past, from the time I
agreed to share my place in father's house with a
boy without a home or a father, I see little that I
would change if I could; in fact, if I could live my
-life over again, counting any sacrifice I may have
made, or may seem to have made, for the sake of
others, and all the possibilities of other investments
I might have made, I say that, if I could live my life
over again I would do the same thing; I would in-
vest my life-my time and money-in boys and girls
in need of a helping hand.