In the very poorest of the very poor little group, she found the widow and her fatherless children, the oldest only five, the youngest not six weeks old. The mother looked so frail and white that Molly’s heart ached to think that what she could do was hardly the sort of help this poor soul needed. Surely beef tea, and milk and eggs, and every nourishing thing was required to build up that fragile frame. And all she would be sure of giving was bread and occasionally, perhaps, a savory meal. How she wished she knew more people whom she might influence for the right kind of help!
She talked to Mrs. Gibbs, and learned that her poor husband had been in work only a fortnight, after being months idle from sickness, when the accident happened, and that the baby was only three days old when its father died.
“At first every one was good; they came and helped me and did a great deal; but there are so many needing help. I could not expect it all to be given to me, and I did think I might get a little sewing when I was out of bed, but I have no machine, and so I can only earn a few cents a week. What I should have done I don’t know, if a kind gentleman hadn’t made a collection in his car for me, and brought me on Saturday $12, which is owing for two months’ rent.”
“And you will have it all to pay away?” cried Molly.
“Yes, ma’am, I must, but oh, I’m so thankful to have it. The dread of losing the roof over us is worse than hunger or anything.”
“But surely you have not needed food?”
The tears came to the woman’s eyes.
“I’m never hungry, but the children are, and yet I think if I could get good food for a week or two, I should get strong and could do work.”
“That food she must have,” thought Molly. “At all events, for a few days she shall have half a pound of steak or a chop. I believe her. That delicate look is semi-starvation.”
Molly bought at the butcher’s that morning one pound of the tender side of the round steak. It cost sixteen cents, and she intended Mrs. Gibbs to have one third for three days.