“What is a casual ward, Mr Missionary?” asked Di.
“Seaward, my love,—his name is not Missionary,” said Sir Richard.
“A casual ward,” answered the visitor, “is an exceedingly plain room with rows of very poor beds; mere wooden frames with canvas stretched on them, in which any miserable beggars who choose to submit to the rules may sleep for a night after eating a bit of bread and a basin of gruel—for all which they pay nothing. It is a very poor and comfortless place—at least you would think it so—and is meant to save poor people from sleeping, perhaps dying, in the streets.”
“Do some people sleep in the streets?” asked Di in great surprise.
“Yes, dear, I’m sorry to say that many do.”
“D’you mean on the stones, in their night-dresses?” asked the child with increasing surprise.
“Yes, love,” said her father, “but in their ordinary clothes, not in their night-dresses—they have no night-dresses.”
Little Di had now reached a pitch of surprise which rendered her dumb, so the missionary continued:
“Here is another case. A poor widow called once, and said she would be so grateful if we would admit her little girl and boy into the schools. She looked clean and tidy, and the children had not been neglected. She could not afford to pay for them, as she had not a penny in the world, and applied to us because we made no charge. The children were admitted and supplied with a plain but nourishing meal, while their mother went away to seek for work. We did not hear how she sped, but she had probably taken her case to God, and found Him faithful, for she had said, before going away, ‘I know that God is the Father of the fatherless, and the husband of the widow.’
“Again, another poor woman came. Her husband had fallen sick. Till within a few days her children had been at a school and paid for, but now the bread-winner was ill—might never recover—and had gone to the hospital. These children were at once admitted, and in each case investigation was made to test the veracity of the applicants.