"Yes, I know, but I've been to see Danny Kern's mother: there is nothing
to be done; we must do our best and leave it there. Was that a boy I met
on the stairs?"

"Yes,--that is, he is a boy in the sense that he is not a girl. Oh,
Helen, such a story! We must take him!"

She sank helplessly on one of the children's tables. "Now, my dear
guide, philosopher, and friend, did you happen to notice my babies this
morning? They were legion! Our mothers must have heard that the Flower
Mission intended giving us some Thanksgiving dinners, for there were our
five inevitable little cat's-paws,--the identical five that applied just
before the Christmas tree, disappeared in vacation, turned up the day
before we went to the Mechanics' Fair, were lost to sight the day after,
presented themselves previous to the Woodward's Garden expedition, and
then went into retirement till to-day. Where am I going to 'sit' another
child, pray? They were two in a seat and a dozen on the floor this
morning. It isn't fair to them, in one sense, for they don't get half
enough attention."

"You are right, dear; work half done is worse than wasted; but it isn't
fair to this child to leave him where he is."

"Oh, I know. I feel Fridayish, to tell the truth. I shall love humanity
again by Monday. Have we money for more chairs or benches?"

"Certainly not."

"You'll have to print an appeal for chairs; and the children may wear