“O, no, only a very few. But the Guild of Brave Poor Things does many other things, besides establishing the schools. All maimed persons may belong, and the guild makes investigations, finds out if they can be helped by surgery, and, if not, tries to make their lives happier in every possible way. Of course, those of them who can use their hands are happier doing so than they could be in any other way. Every Friday afternoon, from three to six, they meet in the settlement rooms and have music and games and reading, and hear talks on interesting subjects by ladies and gentlemen who are glad to tell them of their particular lines of work. Then they have a short service of prayer–”
“Do they sing the tug-of-war hymn?” asked Hannah eagerly. “I remember about that better than anything else in the book.”
“Yes, they almost always sing that. I heard them, myself,” and Miss Lyndesay’s eyes grew sweeter at the thought. “I have never heard anything more affecting than that singing:
148“‘Who best can drink His cup of woe,
Triumphant over pain,
Who patient bears His cross below,
He follows in His train.’”
Frieda and Hannah were still as she finished speaking, and all three sat looking at the fire for a few moments in silence. Presently Hannah said softly:
“And they have ‘Laetus sorte mea’ for a motto? I can see how you could take it, Aunt Clara, for of course you have everything anybody could want. You are well and beautiful and good, and have money and talent and friends.”
Miss Lyndesay was silent and Hannah, who had been studying the flames reflectively, looked up presently to see why she made no reply. There was a grave expression on her face, and Hannah’s grew startled.
Miss Lyndesay, seeing the look of alarm in the child’s eyes, smiled and took her hand.
“Would you give up your father and mother for any or all of those things, Hannah dear?” she said.
“O!” cried Hannah in a hurt frightened tone, and Frieda suddenly choked back a sob.