Muriel looked at the shoemaker with sincere and open admiration while she said:
“I guess it’s you all right. Those things must be in the heart, or they wouldn’t come out.”
The shoemaker, with a smothered sigh, picked up the dainty shoe and started again to fit the high heel into its place, when he thought of a brilliant remark; and he made it:
“Yes, lady; der same as der measles.”
“I guess that’s right,” replied Muriel.
“Dot is only right dot we shall help oder peoples vot is worser off dan ve are. Der same Gott is ofer us all, and I can nefer forget dot I haf ein daughter of mine, und dot if anyt’ing effer happen to her I shall vant somepody’s fader to do py mein child as I do py deirs. Here is your shoe, lady; it is fixet.”
“Put it on, please,” said Muriel, holding out her shapely foot.
The shoemaker drew back. He had fitted on many a shoe for the dwellers of that neighborhood, and it never occurred to him to be afraid nor ashamed, but this was different. He put powder in the shoe, and all over the extended foot in his confusion, but at last the shoe was on. Muriel stamped the foot a couple of times and asked how much it was. The man stammered:
“Nodings, nodings. I put it down to profit und loss.”
“But I insist. You cannot make a living that way.” And she, quietly and unobserved, laid some money on the bench as she started toward the cellar-steps, her head almost clear. But before she could reach the steps Helen Pierson came to the cellar-door, and as she started down the first step she staggered and stumbled down the rest, reaching the room almost falling. At the same moment Loney came in from the door leading to the upper room. Muriel started as she saw the wretched creature whose fair heritage of womanhood was thus wrecked and besodden in gin, and drew aside, turning her back so that the unfortunate creature could not recognize her. For it was Helen Pierson, John Pierson’s abandoned and forsaken wife, who stood there staggering and reeling. The sordid and soiled rags that covered her so scantily told plainly to what a depth the poor creature, once so neat, had descended. No wonder Muriel, who had been the cause of this downfall, hurried to the darkest corner, shuddering and muttering: