't live, and has give up goin' to
see her any longer, 'cause she can't pay. He's stingy mean to do it, for
he goes twice a day to see that spiteful old Mrs. March, and I'm sure
_she_ can't live, for ma said yesterday that all her money couldn't save
her. When I grow up, I'm going to be a doctor, and I'll look after every
poor person twice as good as I will a rich one. That's what I'll do."

"I did not know before that Ruth's mother was so very ill," said
Clemence. "I must go and see her."

She forgot it again, though, until about a week after, when the roll was
called, and she marked again "absent" after Ruth's name, as she had
already done several times before.

"She can't come any more," said Maurice, "her mother's worse, and they
say she won't live much longer."

Clemence felt conscience-stricken at having forgotten her, and set out
for the little one-roomed cabin directly after school was dismissed.

She found the direst poverty and wretchedness. A dark-haired,
strong-featured woman lay on a couch under a window, where there was
scarcely a whole pane of glass, and which was stuffed full of rags to
keep out the draught. A stove, at which a frowsy neighbor was cooking
some fat slices of pork, for the sick woman, filled the apartment with
stifling heat and greasy odors.

"There's the schoolma'am," she heard in a loud whisper, as she paused
for a moment upon the threshold. The invalid tried to raise herself, and
gave a look of dismay at the squalid scene. Poor Mrs. Lynn had been a
noted housekeeper, in her days of prosperity, and even at her greatest
need, nobody could ever call her neglectful, either of her house or
little Ruth, who, though always poorly clad, looked clean and wholesome.
Clemence read the whole at a glance.

"Do not apologise," she interrupted, as the strange neighbor poured out
a profusion of deprecatory exclamations, "I heard that Mrs. Lynn was
ill, and came over to see if I could not assist in some way. Don't allow
me to disturb you, madam. How does she feel now?"

"Well, pretty poorly; ain't it so, Mrs. Lynn? Don't you feel as though
your time was short here below? School-ma'am's been askin."

"Yes, I'm most gone," was the feeble response, "and I should rejoice to
be freed from my troubles, only for the child. I don't have faith to see
just how it's a goin to work for the best, for there will be none to
comfort little Ruth after I'm gone."

"Well, you must just trust in the Lord. That's