take tracts when they go district visiting; I know that from
hearing Mrs. Whipple talk; what is this but a district visiting; only
Dr. Dennis has put my district all over the city; I wonder if he could
have scattered the streets more if he had tried; respectable streets,
though, all of them; better than any Mrs. Whipple ever told about."

Then she tried to select her tracts; but when one has utter ignorance of
such literature, and a few minutes at a crowded counter in which to make
a selection, it is not likely to be very select. She finally gave up any
attempt at choice, beyond a few whose titles seemed inviting, chose a
package at random, and hastened on her way.

"Mrs. C. Y. Sullivan" was the first name on her list, and, following her
directions, she came presently to the street and number. A neat brick
house, with a modern air about it and its surroundings; a bird singing
in a cage before the open window, and pots of flowers blooming behind
tastefully looped white curtains; not at all the sort of a house that
Ruth had imagined she would see.

It did not suit her ideas of district visiting, crude though those ideas
were. However, she rang the bell. Having commenced the task she was not
one to draw back, though she admitted to herself that she never felt
more embarrassed in her life. Nor did the embarrassment lessen when she
was shown into the pretty, tasteful parlor, where presently Mrs.
Sullivan joined her.

"I am Miss Erskine," Ruth said, rising as Mrs. Sullivan, a tall woman of
some degree of dignity after a slight bow, waited as if she would know
her errand. Unfortunately Ruth had no errand, save that she had come out
to do her duty, and make the sort of call that Dr. Dennis expected her
to make. Her embarrassment was excessive! What _could_ she do or say
next? Why did not Mrs. Sullivan take a chair, instead of standing there
and looking at her like an idiot?

"Do you get out to church every Sabbath?" she asked, suddenly, feeling
the need of saying something.

Mrs. Sullivan looked as though she thought she had suddenly come in
contact with a lunatic.

"Do I get out to church?" she repeated. "That depends on whether I
decide to go or not. May I ask why you are interested?"

What had become of Ruth's common sense? Why couldn't she have said, in
as natural a way as she would have talked about going to a concert, that
she was interested to know whether she enjoyed such a privilege? Why
couldn't she have bee