you could
not rest in your bed."

Mrs. Montague looked dazed. "I did not dream that it was as bad as
that," she said. "Are we worse than other towns?"

"No; not worse, but bad enough. Over and over again the saying is true,
one-half the world does not know how the other half lives. How can all
this misery touch you? You live in your lovely house out of the town.
When you come in, you drive about, do your shopping, make calls, and go
home again. You never visit the poorer streets. The people from them
never come to you. You are rich, your people before you were rich, you
live in a state of isolation."

"But that is not right," said the lady in a wailing voice. "I have been
thinking about this matter lately. I read a great deal in the papers
about the misery of the lower classes, and I think we richer ones ought
to do something to help them. Mrs. Morris, what can I do?"

The tears came in Mrs. Morris' eyes. She looked at the little, frail
lady, and said, simply "Dear Mrs. Montague, I think the root of the
whole matter lies in this. The Lord made us all one family. We are all
brothers and sisters. The lowest woman is your sister and my sister. The
man lying in the gutter is our brother. What should we do to help these
members of our common family, who are not as well off as we are? We
should share our last crust with them. You and I, but for God's grace in
placing us in different surroundings, might be in their places. I think
it is wicked neglect, criminal neglect in us to ignore this fact."

"It is, it is," said Mrs. Montague, in a despairing voice. "I can't help
feeling it. Tell me something I can do to help some one."

Mrs. Morris sank back in her chair, her face very sad, and yet with
something like pleasure in her eyes as she looked at her caller. "Your
washerwoman," she said, "has a drunken husband and a cripple boy. I have
often seen her standing over her tub, washing your delicate muslins and
laces, and dropping tears into the water."

"I will never send her anything more--she shall not be troubled," said
Mrs. Montague, hastily.

Mrs. Morris could not help smiling. "I have not made myself clear. It is
not the washing that troubles her; it is her husband who beats her, and
her boy who worries her. If you and I take our work from her, she will
have that much less money to depend upon, and will suffer in
consequence.

"She is a hard-working and capable woman, and makes a fair living. I
would not advise you