He laughed.  “There, now, God bliss her,” he said.  “I put a rib in an umbrella for her, but she said the house was too dirty to read the Bible in, so she let me read it through the broken window.”

All that winter he tinkered and taught.  All winter the little ragged audiences gathered around him in the morning; and often at eventime when he retreated into a quiet corner to be silent and rest, he found himself the centre of an inquiring group of his fellow-lodgers.

Instead of uniting himself to the mission, as such men usually do after their conversion, I advised him to join one of the prominent churches of the city, in the downtown district.  I thought it would be good for the church.  But we both discovered our mistake later.  He was utterly out of keeping with his surroundings.  The church he joined was an institution for the favoured few—­and Dowling was a tinker.

His diary of that period is before me as I write, and I am astonished at the great humility of this simple-minded man.

He had been asked by the minister of his church to call on him; but his modesty prevented him until hunger forced him to change his mind.  After starving for three days, he made up his mind to accept that invitation, and reveal his condition to the well-to-do minister of this well-to-do church.  He was poorly clad.  It was a very cold winter day.  The streets were covered with slush and snow.  On his way he met an old woman with a shawl around her, a bedraggled dress and wet feet.

“My good woman,” said Dowling, “you must be very cold, indeed, in this condition.”

“Sir,” she answered, “I am cold; but I am also starving of hunger.  Could you afford me one cent to get some bread?”

“God bliss ye, dear friend,” he said, “I have not been able to taste food for three days myself; but I am now on the way to the house of a good friend, a good servant of the Lord; and if I get any help, I will share it with you.  I am a poor tinker, but work has been very slack this last week.  I have not earned enough to pay for my lodging.”

The diary gives all the details, the corner of the street where he met her, the hour of the day.

A servant ushered him into the parlour of his “good friend, the servant of the Lord.”  Presently the reverend doctor came down, somewhat irritated, and, without shaking hands, said: 

“Dowling, I know I have asked you several times to call, but I am a very busy man and you should have let me know.  I simply cannot see you this morning.  I have an address to prepare for the opening of a mission and I haven’t the time.”

“No handshake—­no Christian greeting,” records the tinker’s diary; and the account closes with these words:  “Dear Lord, do not let the demon of uncharitableness enter into my poor heart.”