“Something may be coming to us,” her visitor said, with a whimsical look, but he sighed, and got up to take his leave. His charming parishioner sighed too, prettily, and said with much feeling,—
“Of course, Mr. West, if there are any cases that need help, you’ll let me know.”
“But, Nellie,” said Mrs. Eaton, who had been sitting silent, as usual, and quite overlooked by the other two, “is there any use in helping the people who are in trouble because they are out of work, and yet not letting them go to work?”
Mrs. Blair laughed, in spite of herself, the protest was so unexpected, and so absurd, coming from this meek source. “My dear,” she said, “you don’t understand; they can go to work if they want to.”
“Well,” Mrs. Eaton said anxiously, “I should think, either they are wrong, and so you shouldn’t help them, or they are right, and they ought to get what they want.”
Her sister stared at her, and then laughed again, greatly amused; but William West put on his glasses and gave her a keen look.
“Mrs. Eaton, don’t you want to help us on the Organized Relief Association?”
“Yes, sir,” said Lydia Eaton, “if there’s anything I can do.”
“I don’t want to steal your services away from any other parson,” he said pleasantly. “I suppose you belong to Mr. Hudson’s flock? You are a Presbyterian, of course?”
“No, sir, I am not,” she said, the color rising in her face.