“Did you report to the Associated Charities?”
“Yes. But there's a hitch somewhere. The machine doesn't take hold. The man says he doesn't want any charity, any association, treating him like a pauper. He's off peddling; but trade is bad, and he's been away a week. I'm afraid he drinks a little.”
“Well?”
“The mother is sick in bed. I found her trying to do some fine stitching, but she was too weak to hold up the muslin. There are five young children. The family never has had help before.”
Father Damon put on his hat, and they went out together, and for some time picked their way along the muddy streets in silence.
At length he asked, in a softened voice, “Is the mother a Christian?”
“I didn't ask,” she replied shortly. “I found her crying because the children were hungry.”
Father Damon, still under the impression of his neglect of duty, did not heed her warning tone, but persisted, “You have so many opportunities, Dr. Leigh, in your visits of speaking a word.”
“About what?” she asked, refusing to understand, and hardened at the slightest sign of what she called cant.
“About the necessity of repentance and preparation for another life,” he answered, softly but firmly. “You surely do not think human beings are created just for this miserable little experience here?”