Jinny, do you think it a
hallmark of piety to have that hefty safety-pin showing in your
waistband? Walk right back and get your belt."

"Oh, Zury," pleaded the harassed woman, "what's the use of putting it
on? I'll just have to take it off to-night and, my dear, people are
waiting for me."

"Let 'em whistle, Sweetheart," was the unmoved response. "Even though
the heathen roar, I cannot turn aside from my purpose of making you a
Parisian fashion-plate."

"Yes, child! It is good of you to want to dress me up. But," with a
half-laugh, "don't try to make me resemble one of those foreign fashion
ladies. I saw one picture in a style paper that looked almost immoral.
The placket of the dress was at the foot and showed two inches of the
ankle."

"Trust your mother, innocent child," Zura advised, "those picture ladies
don't wear dresses, just symptoms and I'd slap anybody that would ask
you to wear a symptom. Now, tell me where to search for your belt."

Jane, ever weak in certain resistances, yielded and adored the more
while submitting.

Under Zura's care Jane's person grew neater and trimmer. In her face,
now filled out with proper food and rest, there was a look of happiness
as if some great hope foreshadowed fulfilment.

The self-appointed missionary in her talks with me seldom referred to
her work in detail. I respected her reserve and asked no questions, for
I gravely doubted any good results from her labor. But to Zura she
confided her plans and her dreams, and Zura having many dreams of her
own, listened and sympathized. In all the Empire there was no collection
of humanity that could surpass in degradation and sordid evil the
inhabitants of the quarter that Jane Gray had chosen to uplift. Time and
again the best-trained workers had experimented in this place. Men and
women with splendid theories, and the courage to try them had given it
up as hopeless, for fear of their lives.

Once only I remonstrated with Miss Gray and that when there had been in
that section an unprovoked murder of particular horror. The answer of
the frail woman was:

"I don't want to make you anxious, Miss Jenkins, but I must go back. The
people are my friends. I've been charged with a message for them and I
must deliver it. My poor life would be small forfeit, could I but make
them fully understand."

I said no more for I thought if Jane was set on dying that way she'd
just as well get all the pleasure out of it possible. To my sur