“O Margaret,” moaned Elsie, “if the money Herbert left me had only been left to our beloved work, how gladly I would use it! Now, knowing how he feels about it, I can never touch it.”
It was nearing midsummer, and the work among their members was increasing fast, by reason of sickness brought on by living in noisome atmospheres and without proper food and care. Gilbert had come home from his daily rounds one evening, the most of his cases unsold, and with an unusual dejection of face and manner.
“I am comfortless,” he said, “for lack of the dross of earth. I have seen such realization of human suffering to-day without the power to alleviate that I am in despair. I gained admittance to one room, where a mother and her new-born babe lay dead for lack of care, while a couple of little ones were begging her to give them something to eat. I had but ten cents in my pocket that I had saved for street car-fare; but I rushed out, got the children some buns, and aroused the other inmates of the house, who were themselves too poor to do more than care for the children temporarily, while I called in the authorities and had the body disposed of in the potter’s field. How are we going to make this work of ours reach such cases without money? I shall have to go begging to-morrow. I had hoped that our work would so speak for itself that we would not need to beg; but to-morrow I must endeavor to start a fund of some kind.”
As Gilbert ceased speaking, the open door was darkened by the form of a tall, handsome woman dressed in deep mourning, whom Elsie at once recognized as Alice Houghton. She turned with outstretched hand to Elsie. “There is no need of introducing myself to you,” she said, smiling, “but as I came to see your sister, will you make me known to her, and your brother also?”
The introductions over, Miss Houghton at once entered upon the object of her visit. “I have come to you, Miss Murchison, for help. I have recently been sadly bereaved in the loss of one I loved, and life has very nearly lost its charms for me. I have been hearing a good deal of your work lately, and I want you to teach me to find forgetfulness in what is evidently very great happiness to you.”
“Do you mean that you wish to become one of us?”
“That is my meaning. I shall gladly be your servant in any work you may have for me.”
“To have a servant would be something new in my experience,” said Margaret, smiling; “but we shall all be glad of help. Have you any knowledge of our work? It is not agreeable only from one standpoint. There isn’t the least æstheticism, superficially speaking, about it.”
“I do not believe I shall be afraid to try it. I know you three alone, unaided, without money or friends, have been doing a work that is already forcing its way into notice by reason of its unselfishness. I have money, much beyond my needs, and as I learn of the help you have given to many sufferers, I feel sure that I can abet your efforts, with money if not judgment.”
Elsie sprang from her chair and impulsively held out her hand to Miss Houghton. “We have such need of money,” she cried, “and you seem like a providence of God.”