"How much?"
"The amount you asked for."
"That is well. Now I shall be able to relieve my poor daughter. I cannot bear to think of her and her poor children suffering for the lack of bread, while I am living in luxury. I wish Mr. Graham was not so unforgiving."
"Will you take the money now?" asked Frank.
"I wish you to take fifty dollars to my daughter."
"I will do so with pleasure. What is her address?"
Mrs. Graham drew out a card, on which she had pencilled her daughter's address. It proved to be a tenement-house on the east side of the city, not far from Fourteenth street.
"I wish I could go myself," said Mrs. Graham, sadly; "but I do not dare to do so at present. Give Ellen this money, with my best love; and say to her that a month hence I will again send her the same sum. Tell her to keep up good courage. Brighter days may be in store."
"I will be sure to remember," said Frank, in a tone of sympathy.
The errand was to his taste; for he was about to carry help and comfort to those who needed both.