t was known was that she was somewhere up near Fort Washington. I
asked that they find her for me, and a week later I read this entry in the
register, where, let us hope, the case of the Josefys is now closed for
all time:

"The Josefys live now at No. -- West One Hundred and Eighty --st Street in
a handsome flat of six sunny rooms. The oldest son, who is a cashier in a
broker's office on a salary of $35 a week, is the head of the family. His
brother earns $20 a week in a downtown business. Two of the daughters are
happily married; another is a stenographer. The youngest, the baby of the
dark days in the East Side tenement, was graduated from school last year
and is ready to join the army of workers. The mother begins to feel her
years, but is happy with her children."

Some Christmas Eve I will go up and see them and take my friend from the
Presbyterian Building along.

This is the story of a poor woman, daughter of a proud and chivalrous
people, whose sons have helped make great fortunes grow in our land and
have received scant pay and scantier justice in return, and of whom it is
the custom of some Americans to speak with contempt as "Huns."

WHAT THE SNOWFLAKE TOLD

The first snowflake was wafted in upon the north wind to-day. I stood in
my study door and watched it fall and disappear; but I knew that many
would come after and hide my garden from sight ere long. What will the
winter bring us? When they wake once more, the flowers that now sleep
snugly under their blanket of dead leaves, what shall we have to tell?

The postman has just brought me a letter, and with it lying open before
me, my thoughts wandered back to "the hard winter" of a half-score seasons
ago which none of us has forgotten, when women and children starved in
cold garrets while men roamed gaunt and hollow-eyed vainly seeking work.
I saw the poor tenement in Rivington Street where a cobbler and his boy
were fighting starvation all alone save for an occasional visit from one
of Miss Wald's nurses who kept a watchful eye on them as on so many
another tottering near the edge in that perilous time, ready with the lift
that brought back hope when all things seemed at an end. One day she found
a stranger in the flat, a man with close-cropped hair and a hard look that
told their own story. The cobbler eyed her uneasily, and, when she went,
followed her out and made excuses. Yes! he was just out of prison and had
come to him for shelter. He u