d Ruth.

"Yes, but she's another exception."

"And Mrs Robbie."

"Why, Ruth, what's the use of picking out all the exceptions to prove
your point? Of course the exception proves the rule--at least so the
proverb says--but a great many exceptions prove nothing that I know of,
except--that is--but what's the use of arguing, child, you'll never be
convinced. Come, how much do you want me to give?"

Easy-going Mrs Dotropy's mind, we need scarcely point out, was of a
confused type, and she "hated argument." Perhaps, on the whole, it was
to the advantage of her friends and kindred that she did so.

"I only want you to give a little time, mother," replied Ruth, swinging
her hat to and fro, while she looked archly into Mrs Dotropy's large,
dignified, and sternly-kind countenance, if we may venture on such an
expression,--"I want you to go with me and see--"

"Yes, yes, I know what you're going to say, child, you want me to go and
`see for myself,' which means that I'm to soil my boots in filthy
places, subject my ears to profanity, my eyes to horrible sights, and my
nose to intolerable smells. No, Ruth, I cannot oblige you. Of what use
would it be? If my doing this would relieve the miseries of the poor,
you might reasonably ask me to go among them, but it would not. I give
them as much money as I can afford to give, and, as far as I can see, it
does them no good. They never seem better off, and they always want
more. They are not even grateful for it. Just look at Lady Openhand.
What good does she accomplish by her liberality, and her tearful eyes,
and sympathetic heart, even though her feelings are undoubtedly genuine?
Only the other day I chanced to walk behind her along several streets
and saw her stop and give money to seven or eight beggars who accosted
her. She never _can_ refuse any one who asks with a pitiful look and a
pathetic cock-and-bull story. Several of them were young and strong,
and quite undeserving of charity. Three, I observed, went straight to a
public-house with what she had given them, and the last, a small street
boy, went into fits of suppressed laughter after she had passed, and
made faces at her--finishing off by putting the thumb of his left hand
to his nose, and spreading out his fingers as wide as possible. I do
not understand the exact significance of that action, but there is
something in it so intensely insolent that it is quite incompatible with
the idea of gratitude."

"