rent class," said
Aunt Maria, who had seated herself as primly as ever, with her hands
crossed but not touching the lap of her black gown. The folds of the
skirt were carefully arranged, and she did not move after having once
seated herself, for fear of creasing it.

"They were clean, at least," said Maria, with a little grimace of
disgust. "It does seem as if people might be clean, if they are poor."

"Some folks here are too poor to buy soap and wash-cloths and
towels," her uncle said, still not bitterly. "You must take that into
account, Maria. It takes a little extra money even to keep clean;
people don't get that into their heads, generally speaking, but it is
so."

"Well, I haven't had much money," said Aunt Maria, "but I must say I
have kept myself in soap and wash-rags and towels."

"You might not have been able to if you had had half a dozen children
and a drinking husband, or one who was out of work half the time,"
her brother said.

An elderly blush spread over his sister's face. "Well, the Lord knows
I'd rather have the soap and towels and wash-rags than a drunken
husband and half a dozen dirty children," she retorted, sharply.

"Lucky for you and the children that you have," said Henry. Then he
turned again to his niece, of whom he was very fond. "It won't rain
every day, dear," he said, "and the smells won't be so bad. Don't
worry."

Maria smiled back at him bravely. "I shall get used to it," she said,
sniffing at the cologne, which was cheap and pretty bad.

Maria was in reality dismayed. Her experience with children--that is,
her personal experience--had been confined to her sister Evelyn.
She compared dainty little Evelyn with the rough, uncouth,
half-degenerates which she had encountered that morning, sitting
before her with gaping mouths of stupidity or grins of impish
impudence, in their soiled, damp clothing, and her heart sank. There
was nothing in common except youth between these children, the
offspring of ignorance and often drunken sensuality, and Evelyn. At
first it seemed to her that there was absolutely no redeeming quality
in the whole. However, the next morning the sun shone through the
yellow maple boughs, and was reflected from the golden carpet of
leaves which the wind and rain of the day before had spread beneath.
The children were dry; some of them had become ingratiating, even
affectionate. She discovered that there were a number of pretty
little girls and innocent, honest