"Because he came to us from a very unhappy home." And Mrs.
Morris went on to tell her friend what she knew of my early days.

When she stopped, Mrs. Montague's face was shocked and pained.
"How dreadful to think that there are such creatures as that man
Jenkins in the world. And you say that he has a wife and children.
Mrs. Morris, tell me plainly, are there many such unhappy homes
in Fairport?"

Mrs. Morris hesitated for a minute, then she said, earnestly: "My
dear friend, if you could see all the wickedness, and cruelty, and
vileness, that is practiced in this little town of ours in one night,
you could not rest in your bed."

Mrs. Montague looked dazed. "I did not dream that it was as bad
as that," she said. "Are we worse than other towns?"

"No; not worse, but bad enough. Over and over again the saying is
true, one-half the world does not know how the other half lives.
How can all this misery touch you? You live in your lovely house
out of the town. When you come in, you drive about, do your
shopping, make calls, and go home again. You never visit the
poorest streets. The people from them never come to you. You are
rich, your people before you were rich, you live in a state of
isolation."

"But that is not right," said the lady in a wailing voice. "I have
been thinking about this matter lately. I read a great deal in the
papers about the misery of the lower classes, and I think we richer