"Miss Spencer," he said, "I congratulate you. If they could understand me, I would congratulate these happy youngsters, too."
"But don't you think it's altogether wrong," said Professor Marsh, "to deprive a child of the advantages of home life?"
"I read and hear that so often," said Mary, "that I have adopted my own method of replying to it."
She led her visitors into a small room with a low ceiling. It was furnished with a cookstove, a table, a small side-board, an old conch and a few chairs. The floor was splintery and only partly covered by frayed rugs and worn oil cloth. The paper on the walls was a dark mottled green. The ceiling was discoloured by smoke.
"This is the kitchen of an average wage-earner," said Mary. "Some are better. Some are worse. I bought the furniture out of a room, just as it stood, and had the whole place copied in detail."
Three of the visitors looked at each other.
"Imagine a tired woman," continued Mary, "standing over that stove—perhaps expecting another baby before long. She has been washing all morning and now she is cooking. The room is damp with steam, the ceiling dotted with flies. Then imagine a child crawling around the floor, its mother too busy to attend to it, and you'll get an idea of where some of these children in the nursery would be—if they weren't here. Mind," she earnestly continued, "I'm not saying that home life for poor children doesn't have its advantages, but we mustn't forget that it has its disadvantages, too."
She led them next to the kindergarten.
A recess was on and the children were out in the play-ground—some swinging, some sliding down the chutes, others playing in a merry-go-round which was pushed around by hand.
"Every other hour they have for play," said Mary. "In the alternate hours the teachers read to them, talk to them, teach them their letters, teach them to sing and give them the regular kindergarten course. If they weren't here," she said, half turning to Professor Marsh, "most of them would probably be playing on the street."