s. She dragged
herself down to the boat that took her back to the city, only to find
that her last few belongings were gone, the little hall room she had
occupied in a house in Twenty-ninth Street locked against her, and she, at
seventy-five, on the street, penniless, and without one who cared for her
in all the world.

Yes, there was one. A dressmaker who had known her in happier days saw
from her window opposite Father McGlynn's church a white-haired woman seek
shelter within the big storm-doors night after night in the bitter cold of
midwinter, and recognized in her the once proud and prosperous Miss Kelly.
Shocked and grieved, she went to the district office of the Charities with
money to pay for shelter and begged them to take the old lady in charge
and save her from want.

And what a splendid old lady she was! Famished with the hunger of weeks
and months, but with pride undaunted, straight as an arrow under the
burden of heavy years, she met the visitor with all the dignity of a
queen. The deep lines of suffering in her face grew deeper as she heard
her message. She drew the poor black alpaca about her with a gesture as if
she were warding off a blow: "Why," she asked, "should any one intrude
upon her to offer aid? She had not asked for anything, and was not--" she
faltered a bit, but went on resolutely--"did not want anything."

"Not work?" asked her caller, gently. "Would you not like me to find some
work for you?"

A sudden light came into the old eyes. "Work--yes, if she could get
that--" And then the reserve of the long, lonely years broke down. She
buried her face in her hands and wept.

They found her a place to sew in a house where she was made welcome as one
of the family. For all that, she went reluctantly. All her stubborn pride
went down before the kindness of these strangers. She was afraid that her
hand had lost its cunning, that she could not do justice to what was asked
of her, and she stipulated that she should receive only a dollar for her
day's work, if she could earn that. When her employer gave her the dollar
at the end of the day, the look that came into her face made that woman
turn quickly to hide her tears.

The worst of Margaret Kelly's hardships were over. She had a roof over her
head, and an "address." If she starved, that was her affair. And slowly
she opened her heart to her new friends and gave them room there. I have a
letter of that day from one of them that tells how they we