John Smith, the father, had been a builder and carpenter, and though he was a first-class workman and his labor had helped to build some of the best homes in the city, yet he had only a condemned shell to die in, for dying he was, from the effects of poverty, sickness and inability to get work. This last stroke of misfortune, Mary becoming helpless, at least for a time, was too much for his shattered nerves and two days afterwards he died. The shock had been so great that both mother and child were stunned as well as helpless. They had one comfort, he at least had not been separated from them, which had been his greatest fear. Many times he had laid on his bed, unable to escape the cold winds that blew through cracks in the wall or the rain that fell through the roof. There was no comfort for him unless it was being with his loved ones and they knew if the authorities discovered his condition, he would be taken away and possibly they would never see each other again.
Before coming to this place, the Smiths had been unable to pay their rent, the husband had been ill for more than a year; so one day feeling better than usual, had gone for a walk. When he returned, he found all their possessions on the sidewalk, the door shut against them and nowhere to go. His wife was away washing. He saw the things they treasured scattered around at the mercy of any one and was too weak to gather them up. All he could do was to watch them until some kindly neighbors came and moved them to this old ramshackle place.
When Mary came home at night, weary, footsore and worn out, there was no warm supper to cheer her, not even a shelter, and it was some time before she found her parents and Bob. Poor little soul, she had been forgotten in the efforts of getting the household goods under cover before night. All events till now were dated back to this last degradation. The mother had become unable to work since then, and now even Mary was helpless. What would they do? It was a trial an older person might find hard to bear, but a child of eleven years looked upon it in desperation.
“Surely there must be something wrong with our whole social structure,” Nellie had thought when the girls told her the next day. “What can we do to help in such cases? Simply nothing. We have all we can do to earn enough to exist ourselves.”
Fortunately the city sent help, and as the girls talked it over in the large work room, it was rather interesting to hear the old wornout ideas get their quietus as a quiet, pale-faced girl sitting in a corner by herself remarked, “But this was not a case of drinking or laziness, but misfortune caused from ignorant management in the affairs of our city and we may say, in our country itself. Employment should be provided for all, then such things wouldn’t occur.”
“Well,” one of the girls said, “we never receive charity and I don’t believe any one needs to become so poor as to need help from the city.”
“I don’t see why they shouldn’t,” the pale-faced girl continued, “when they are the ones who contribute all their labor to provide, not only for themselves, but their employer besides, and make it possible for the city to have a fund for that purpose.”
This caused a general roar of laughter from most of the girls. The bell rang. Work began and was continued for the rest of the day, but the next day some one of the girls asked her what she meant, and Nellie, seeing them a little excited, joined them also. Then she said that Annie, which was the girl’s name, was right.
“We are all employed by Mr. Forbes. He pays us so much for our labor or time. Well, he has to have a large profit, or it wouldn’t pay him to hire us. Out of our labors, he has to pay rent, support his family and see that he gets sufficient interest on his capital. All this comes out of our labor. He merely manages the buying and selling and it does not end here; his landlord has to have the rent to pay taxes and receive his living. That is what Annie meant. Who do you think is most dependent, Mr. Forbes, or us?”
“Why, we are,” they all exclaimed.