“He’s a city missionary and a genuinely good man. There never was a better, if all I’ve heard of him is true, and his wife is a mother to every poor girl in creation.”
“That’s downright goodness,” said Dollie, firmly. “Half the church people don’t do it, nor the ministers either.”
“Such goodness as this puts the many professing Christians to the blush,” said Miss Allyn, with energy. “There’s no cant and no hypocrisy in Samuel Haley’s religion.”
Bright and early the next morning Miss Allyn started out. Her hostess loaned her some clothing that had been contributed to the mission, and which would go there as soon as Miss Allyn was done with it.
“I guess I’m an object of charity if ever there was one,” said Miss Allyn, when she was arrayed in them. “However, I’ll be richer by noon by the looks of that paper.”
She handed Marion a morning edition of the New York Star, and there, sure enough, was a full account of the fire and the words “Marion Marlowe’s Heroism” in such big letters that it made the young girl blush to look at them.
Then there were pictures of the fire showing the scene on the window ledge and another which demonstrated how she had pushed Miss Allyn to safety. Altogether it was an array of information which almost staggered her.
“How in the world could they do it so quickly?” she asked her hostess, but before she was answered, there was an unexpected interruption.
A young man came into the room, whom Mrs. Haley introduced as her nephew, Ralph Moore. He was a dark-eyed, curly-haired young fellow, with charmingly courteous manners.
While Marion talked with Mrs. Haley, Ralph Moore and Dollie chatted together. The young man was smitten at once with the country girl’s pretty features.