wered, and then remembering how necessary
my life was to the life of my child, I said, "I must not be ill."

At last on the Saturday morning--I know now it must have been Saturday,
but time did not count with me then--I overheard Mrs. Abramovitch
pleading for me with her husband, saying they knew I was in trouble and
therefore I ought to have more time to find lodging, another week--three
days at all events. But the stern-natured man with his rigid religion
was inexorable. It was God's will that I should be punished, and who was
he to step in between the All-high and his just retribution?

"The woman is displeasing to God," he said, and then he declared that,
the day being Sabbath (the two tall candlesticks and the Sabbath loaves
must have been under his eyes at the moment), he would give me until
nine o'clock that night, and if I had not moved out by that time he
would put my belongings into the street.

I remember that the Jew's threat made no impression upon my mind. It
mattered very little to me where I was to lodge next week or what roof
was to cover me.

When I reached the Olivers' that morning I found baby distinctly worse.
Even the brandy would not stay on her stomach and hence her strength was
plainly diminishing. I sat for some time looking steadfastly into my
child's face, and then I asked myself, as millions of mothers must have
done before me, why my baby should suffer so. Why? Why? Why?

There seemed to be no answer to that question except one. Baby was
suffering because I was poor. If I had not been poor I could have taken
her into the country for fresh air and sunshine, where she would have
recovered as the doctor had so confidently assured me.

And why was I poor? I was poor because I had refused to be enslaved by
my father's authority when it was vain and wrong, or my husband's when
it, was gross and cruel, and because I had obeyed the highest that was
in me--the call of love.

And now God looked down on the sufferings of my baby, who was being
killed for my conduct--killed by my poverty!

I tremble to say what wild impulses came at that thought. I felt that if
my baby died and I ever stood before God to be judged I should judge Him
in return. I should ask Him why, if He were Almighty, He permitted the
evil in the world to triumph over the good, and if He were our heavenly
Father why He allowed innocent children to suffer? Was there any _human_
father who could be so callous, so neglectful, so