Luke's face darkened with justifiable anger.
"I know it is wrong to hate anyone, mother," he said; "but I am afraid I hate that man Thomas Butler, whom I have never seen."
"It is sometimes hard to feel like a Christian, Luke," said his mother.
"This man must be one of the meanest of men. Suppose you or I should fall sick! What would become of us?"
"We won't borrow trouble, Luke. Let us rather thank God for our present good health. If I should be sick it would not be as serious as if you were to become so, for you earn more than twice as much as I do."
"It ought not to be so, mother, for you work harder than I do."
"When I get a sewing machine I shall be able to contribute more to the common fund."
"I hope that will be soon. Has Bennie gone to bed?"
"Yes, he is fast asleep."
"I hope fortune will smile on us before he is much older than I. I can't bear the idea of sending him into the street among bad boys."