rightly at
a mother, pushing a baby-buggy--she thrust a coin into the withered hand
of an old beggar. On a crowded corner she paused to listen to the vague
carollings of a barrel organ, to pat the head of a frayed looking little
monkey that hopped about in time to the music. All at once she wanted to
know a dozen foreign languages so that she could tell those who passed
her by that she was their friend--_their friend!_

And yet, despite her sudden feeling of kinship to these people of the
slums, she did not loiter. For she was the bearer of a message, a message
of hope! She wished, as she sped through the crowded streets, that her
feet were winged so that she might hurry the faster! She wanted to see
the expression of bewilderment on Mrs. Volsky's face, she wanted to see a
light dawn in Ella's great eyes, she wanted to whisper a message of--of
life, almost--into Lily's tiny useless ear. And, most of all, she wanted
to feel Bennie's warm, grubby little fingers touching her hand! Jim--she
hoped that Jim would be out when she arrived. She did not want to have
Jim throw cold water upon her plans--which did not include him. Well she
knew that the arrangement would make no real difference to him--it was
not love of family that kept him from leaving the dirty, crowded little
flat. It was the protection of a family, with its pseudo-respectability,
that he wanted. It was the locked room, which no one would think of
prying into, that he desired.

She went in through the mouth-like tenement door--it was no longer
frightful to her--with a feeling of intense emotion. She climbed the
narrow stairs, all five flights of them, with never a pause for breath.
And then she was standing, once again, in front of the Volskys' door. She
knocked, softly.

Everything was apparently very still in the Volsky flat. All up and down
the hall came the usual sounds of the house; the stairs echoed with
noise. But behind the closed door silence reigned supreme. As Rose-Marie
stood there she felt a strange mental chill--the chill of her first
doubt. Perhaps the Volskys would not want to come with her to the
Settlement House, perhaps they would resent her attitude--would call it
interference. Perhaps they would tell her that they were tired of
her--and of her plans. Perhaps--But the door, swinging open, cut short
her suppositions.

Jim stood in the doorway. He was in his shirt sleeves but--even divested
of his coat--he was still too painfully immaculat