ng of your circumstances."

"What was there to tell?" answered the woman, still somewhat ruffled.
He could see for himself how things stood with her. Her husband had
been turned out of Berlin; but much the police cared if she and her
five children starved or froze to death. It would have come to that
already if some of her husband's fellow-workmen had not given them a
little help in their distress, like her present visitor, the
iron-worker, Groll. But what could they do? They had not anything
themselves, and the police were always after them like the devil after
a poor soul. What did they want of them after all? Her husband had held
with the Socialists certainly, but he had done nobody any harm by that.
Ever since Wander had gone over to the Socialists he had left off
drinking--not a drop--only coffee, and sometimes a little beer; and he
was always good to his wife and children, and he had no debts as long
as he had been able to earn anything. The locksmith downstairs had
discharged him after the second attack on the emperor, although he was
a clever workman; but the master was afraid of the police, and none of
the others would risk taking him on. That was bad enough, but it was
not so hard to bear in the summer, and the Socialists held faithfully
together, and now and then there was a penny to be earned. But now--now
that he had to go away, and winter was at the door-- She could keep up
no longer, and burst into tears.

Wilhelm seated himself cautiously on the broken chair, and asked,
"Where is your husband now? and what does he think of doing?"

"He is trying to get through to the Rhine, and get work at Dortmund, or
somewhere in that neighborhood," she answered, while the tight sobs
caught her breath, and she wiped away the tears with the back of her
hand. "If he can't get any work he will go to France, or Belgium, or
even America, if he must. But that takes a lot of money, and where is
one to get it without stealing? We are to come to him when he has found
work, and can send us the money for the journey. Till then--"

With the free arm that was not holding the child she made a hopeless
gesture.

At that moment the door opened and Father Stubbe came in, carrying in
one hand a lighted candle, and in the other a great, fresh-smelling
loaf of bread. He placed both upon the bare table, and then discreetly
withdrew.

"Bread! bread!" cried the children, awakened to sudden life, and
jumping off the bed they gathered r