too horrid for a second glance.

Of all the horrid things that ever passed under my eyes when I lifted
my nose from my book, spiders were the worst. Mice were bad enough,
and so were flies and worms and June bugs; but spiders were absolutely
the most loathsome creatures I knew. And yet it was the spider that
opened my eyes to the wonders of nature, and touched my girlish
happiness with the hues of the infinite.

And it happened at Hale House.

It was not Dr. Hale, though it might have been, who showed me the way
to the settlement house on Garland Street which bears his name. Hale
House is situated in the midst of the labyrinth of narrow streets and
alleys that constitutes the slum of which Harrison Avenue is the
backbone, and of which Dover Street is a member.

Bearing in mind the fact that there are almost no playgrounds in all
this congested district, you will understand that Hale House has
plenty of work on its hands to carry a little sunshine into the grimy
tenement homes. The beautiful story of how that is done cannot be told
here, but what Hale House did for me I may not omit to mention.

It was my brother Joseph who discovered Hale House. He started a
debating club, and invited his chums to help him settle the problems
of the Republic on Sunday afternoon. The club held its first session
in our empty parlor on Dover Street, and the United States Government
was in a fair way to be put on a sound basis at last, when the
numerous babies belonging to our establishment broke up the meeting,
leaving the Administration in suspense as to its future course.

The next meeting was held in Isaac Maslinsky's parlor, and the orators
were beginning to jump to their feet and shake their fists at each
other, in excellent parliamentary form, when Mrs. Maslinsky sallied
in, to smile at the boys' excitement. But at the sight of seven pairs
of boys' boots scuffling on her cherished parlor carpet, the fringed
cover of the centre table hanging by one corner, and the plush
photograph album unceremoniously laid aside, indignation took the
place of good humor in Mrs. Maslinsky's ample bosom, and she ordered
the boys to clear out, threatening "Ike" with dire vengeance if ever
again he ventured to enter the parlor with ungentle purpose.

On the following Sunday Harry Rubinstein offered the club the
hospitality of _his_ parlor, and the meeting began satisfactorily. The
subject on the table was the Tariff, and the pros and antis were