hool.'

"I did remember her as a ragged, dirty-faced child, forlorn and
neglected, like most of the children about here. It was a wonderful
transformation.

"'And now,' I said, 'tell me how all this has come about.'

"'Well, you see, Mr. Paulding,' she answered, 'there was no use in John
and me trying to be anything down there. It was temptation on every
hand, and we were weak and easily tempted. There was nothing to make us
look up or to feel any pride. We lived like our neighbors, and you know
what kind of a way that was.

"'One day John said to me, "Emma," says he, "it's awful, the way we're
living; we'd better be dead." His voice was shaky-like, and it kind of
made me feel bad. "I know it, John," said I, "but what can we do?" "Go
'way from here," he said. "But where?" I asked. "Anywhere. I'm not all
played out yet;" and he held up his hand and shut it tight. "There's
good stuff in me yet, and if you're willing to make a new start, I am."
I put my hand in his, and said, "God helping me, I will try, John." He
went off that very day and got a room in a decent neighborhood, and we
moved in it before night. We had only one cart-load, and a wretched load
of stuff it was. But I can't tell you how much better it looked when we
got it into our new room, the walls of which were nicely papered, and
the paint clean and white. I fixed up everything and made it as neat as
possible. John was so pleased. "It feels something like old times," he
said. He had been knocking about a good while, picking up odd jobs and
not half working, but he took heart now, quit drinking and went to work
in good earnest, and was soon making ten dollars a week, every cent of
which he brought home. He now gets sixteen dollars. We haven't made a
back step since. But it wouldn't have been any use trying if we'd stayed
in Briar street. Pride helped us a good deal in the beginning, sir. I
was ashamed not to have my children looking as clean as my neighbors,
and ashamed not to keep things neat and tidy-like. I didn't care
anything about it in Briar street.'

"I give you this instance, true in nearly every particular," said the
missionary, "in order to show you how incurable is the evil condition of
the people here; unless we can get the burning brands apart, they help
to consume each other."

"But how to get them apart? that is the difficult question," said Mr.
Dinneford.

"There are two ways," was replied--"by forcing the human brands apart,
and by