For this childish enthusiasm she was smiled on indulgently by her friends. Kitty and Bess knew the best there was in her, and loved her for it.
Pet gave two or three quick strokes, and paused.
“Isn’t there any way to help these poor people, Mark? It must be the way these people live and are brought up that makes them so rough and bad. Isn’t there any way to help them?”
“None that amounts to much. Besides, that isn’t our business. There are men enough who do nothing else—are paid for it—missionaries and the like. And you can’t make everybody rich, you know. The Bible itself says, ‘Ye have the poor always with you.’”
“Perhaps that doesn’t mean that we ought to have them,” replied Pet, slowly.
“Well, they’re here, and we may as well make the best of it.”
“But what is the best? That’s just it.”
“What is the use of your thinking about it? You can’t do anything, and you don’t even know the kind of people we’re talking of; the North-Enders, for instance. You have never seen and touched them; and if you should meet them face to face, I don’t believe you would care for any further acquaintance. They’re simply disgusting.”
Pet said no more on the subject, and just as the sun dropped into the arms of the waiting pines on the hill they reached the little wharf on the river-bank, moored the boat, and walked up to the hotel. She went straight to her mother’s room, and, after her fashion, as straight to the point.
“Mother, I want to go into the city right away, and spend the night with aunt Augusta.”