aria," said Ida.

"I really think," said Harry, in almost a fretful tone, "that you
exaggerate. I hardly think there is anything so very objectionable
about her associates here. I will admit that many of the children
come from what we call the poor whites, but after all their main vice
is shiftlessness, and Maria is not very likely to become contaminated
with that."

"Why, Harry, my dear, that is the very least of their vices."

"What else?"

"Why, you know that they are notoriously light-fingered."

"My dear Ida, you don't mean to say that you think Maria--"

"Why, of course not, Harry, but aside from that, their morals."

Harry rose from his chair and walked across the room nervously.

"My dear Ida," he said, "you are exaggerating now. Maria is simply
not that kind of a girl; and, besides, I don't know that she does see
so much of those people, anyway."

"Gladys Mann--"

"Well, I never heard any harm of that poor little runt. On the other
side, Ida, I should think Maria's influence over her for good was to
be taken into consideration."

"I hope you don't mean Maria to be a home missionary?" said Ida.

"She might go to school for a worse purpose," replied Harry, simply.
"Maria has a very strong character from her mother, if not from her
father. I actually think the chances are that the Mann girl will have
a better chance of getting good from Maria than Maria evil from her."

"Well, dear, suppose we leave it to Maria herself," said Ida. "Nobody
is going to force the dear child away against her will, of course."

"Very well," said Harry. His face still retained a slightly sulky,
disturbed expression.

Ida, after a furtive glance at him, took up a sheet of the Sunday
paper, and began swaying back and forth gracefully in her
rocking-chair, as she read it.

"How foolish all this sentiment about that murderer in the Tombs is,"
said she presently. "They are actually going to give him a
Christmas-tree."

"He is only a boy," said Harry absently.

"I know that--but the idea!"

Just then Maria passed the window, dragging little Evelyn in her
white sledge. Ida rose with a motion of unusual quickness for her,
but Harry stopped her as she was about to leave the room.

"Don't go out, Ida," he said, with a peremptoriness which sat
strangely upon him.

Ida stared at him. "Why, why not?" she asked. "I wanted to take
Evelyn out. You know Josephine is not here."

"She is getting out all right with Maria's help