e that I can do."

He sat down by the bed, and talked with the mother, getting her story,
while the doctor tidied up the room a bit, and then, taking the youngest
child in her lap and drawing the others about her, began to tell a story
in a low voice. Presently she was aware that the priest was on his knees
and saying a prayer. She stopped in her story, and looked out through
the dirty window into the chill and dark area.

"What is he doing?" whispered one of the children.

"I don't know," she said, and a sort of chill came over her heart. It
all seemed a mockery, in these surroundings.

When he rose he said to the woman, "We will see that you do not want
till your husband comes back."

"And I will look in tomorrow," said the doctor.

When they were in the street, Father Damon thanked her for calling his
attention to the case, thanked her a little formally, and said that
he would make inquiries and have it properly attended to. And then he
asked: "Is your work ended for the day? You must be tired."

"Oh, no; I have several visits to make. I'm not tired. I rather think it
is good for me, being out-of-doors so much." She thanked him, and said
good-by.

For a moment he stood and watched the plain, resolute little woman
threading her way through the crowded and unclean street, and then
slowly walked away to his apartment, filled with sadness and perplexity.

The apartment which he occupied was not far from the mission chapel,
and it was the one clean spot among the ill-kept tenements; but as to
comfort, it was not much better than the cell of an anchorite. Of this,
however, he was not thinking as he stretched himself out on his pallet
to rest a little from the exhausting labors of the day. Probably it did
not occur to him that his self-imposed privations lessened his strength
for his work.

He was thinking of Ruth Leigh. What a rare soul! And yet apparently she
did not think or care whether she had a soul. What could be the spring
of her incessant devotion? If ever woman went about doing good in an
unselfish spirit it was she. Yet she confessed her work hopeless. She
had no faith, no belief in immortality, no expectation of any reward,
nothing to offer to anybody beyond this poor life. Was this the
enthusiasm of humanity, of which he heard so much? But she did not seem
to have any illusions, or to be burned up by enthusiasm. She just kept
on. Ah, he thought, what a woman she would be if she were touched by the
f