d manifestation of a whole nation's greed!" Nay, more, he
is the externalization of a people's ignorance of God.

Carmen's throat filled as she watched the old woman bustling about the
wretched room and making a feeble attempt at order.

"You see," the widow went on, happy in the possession of an auditor,
"there is no use making apologies for the looks of my room; I couldn't
make it look much better if I tried. There's no running water. We have
to get water from the hydrant down back of the house. It is pumped
there from the creek, and it's a long climb up these stairs when
you've got only one arm to hold the bucket. And I have to bring my
coal up, too. The coal dealer charges extra for bringing it up so
far."

Carmen sat down on an empty box and watched her. The woman's lot
seemed to have touched the depths of human wretchedness, and yet there
burned within her soul a something that the oppression of human
avarice could not extinguish.

"It's the children, Miss, that I think about," she continued. "It's
not so bad as when I was a little one and worked in the cloth mills in
England. I was only six when I went into the mills there. I worked
from seven in the morning until after six at night. And the air was so
bad and we got so tired that we children used to fall asleep, and the
boss used to carry a stick to whip us to keep us awake. My parents
died when I was only eight. They worked in the Hollow-ware works, and
died of lead poisoning. People only last four or five years at that
work."

Carmen rose. "How many children are employed in these mills here?" she
asked.

"I can't say, Miss. But hundreds of them."

"I want to see them," said the girl, and there was a hitch in her
voice as she spoke.

"You can go down and watch them come out about six this evening. It's
a sight to a stranger. But now I must hurry to look after the Hoolan
babes."

When she again reached the street Carmen turned and looked up at the
hideous structure from which she had emerged; then she drew a long
breath. The foul air of the "death-room" seemed to fill her lungs as
with leaden weights. The dim light that lay over the wretched hovel
hung like a veil before her eyes.

"Katie lives a block down the street," said the widow, pointing in the
direction. "She was burned out last winter. These tenements don't have
fire-escapes, and the one she lived in burned to the ground in an
hour. She lived on the second floor, and got out. But--six were