ones ought to do something to help them. Mrs. Morris, what can I
do?"

The tears came in Mrs. Morris' eyes. She looked at the little, frail
lady, and said, simply: "Dear Mrs. Montague, I think the root of
the whole matter lies in this. The Lord made us all one family. We
are all brothers and sisters. The lowest woman is your sister and
my sister. The man lying in the gutter is our brother What should
we do to help these members of our common family, who are not
as well off as we are? We should share our last crust with them.
You and I, but for God's grace in placing us in different
surroundings, might be in their places. I think it is wicked neglect,
criminal neglect in us to ignore this fact."

"It is, it is," said Mrs. Montague, in a despairing voice. "I can't help
feeling it. Tell me something I can do to help some one."

Mrs. Morris sank back in her chair, her face very sad, and yet with
something like pleasure in her eyes as she looked at her caller.
"Your washerwoman," she said, "has a drunken husband and a
cripple boy. I have often seen her standing over her tub, washing
your delicate muslins and laces, and dropping tears into the water."

"I will never send her anything more she shall not be troubled,"
said Mrs. Montague, hastily.

Mrs. Morris could not help smiling. "I have not made myself clear.
It is not the washing that troubles her; it is her husband who beats
her, and her boy who worries her. If you and I take our work from
her, she will have that much less money to depend upon, and will