The woman turned to her children and sent the little brood scattering. At another sharp command little Tony set out a soiled, broken chair for Carmen. But before the girl could take it the woman’s voice again rose sharply.
“Wait!” she commanded, turning fiercely upon Carmen. “You are––what do you say? slumming. You come with your gay party to look us over and go away laughing! No! You can not stay!”
Carmen did not smile. But reaching out, she gently lifted the heavy baby from the woman’s arms and sat down with it. For a moment she patted its cheeks and bent tenderly over it. Then she looked up at the bewildered mother.
“I have come here,” she said softly, “because I love you.”
The woman’s lips parted in astonishment. She turned dully and sat down on one of the begrimed beds. Her little ones gathered about her, their soiled fingers in their mouths, or clutching their tattered gowns, as they gazed at the beautiful creature who had suddenly come into their midst.
Then the woman found her voice again. “Eh! You are from the mission? You come to talk of heaven? But I am busy.”
“I am not from the mission,” replied the girl gently. “I have come to talk, not of heaven, but of earth, and of you, and of Tony,” smiling down into the eager face of the little boy as he stood before her.
“You can’t have Tony!” cried the mother, starting up. “You can’t take any of my children! The judge took Pietro Corrello’s boy last week––but you can’t have mine! Go away from here!”
“I don’t want your children,” said Carmen, smiling up at the frightened, suspicious mother. “I want you. I want you to help me to help all of these people here who need us. The mills are running only half time, aren’t they? The people do not have enough to eat. But we, you and I, are going to make things better for them, for everybody here, aren’t we?