ecollection of everything else.

It was all familiar to Philip; but it always looked to him just as
terrible. The heartache for humanity was just as deep in him at sight of
suffering and injustice as if it was the first instead of the hundredth
time he had ever seen them. But to the mill-owner the whole thing came
like a revelation. He had not dreamed of such a condition possible.

"How many people are there in our church that know anything about this
plague spot from personal knowledge, Mr. Winter?" Philip asked after
they had been out about two hours.

"I don't know. Very few, I presume."

"And yet they ought to know about it. How else shall all this sin and
misery be done away?"

"I suppose the law could do something," replied Mr. Winter, feebly.

"The law!" Philip said the two words and then stopped. They stumbled
over a heap of refuse thrown out into the doorway of a miserable
structure. "Oh, what this place needs is not law and ordinances and
statutes so much as live, loving Christian men and women who will give
themselves and a large part of their means to cleanse the souls and
bodies and houses of this wretched district. We have reached a crisis in
Milton when Christians must give themselves to humanity! Mr. Winter, I
am going to tell Calvary Church so next Sunday."

Mr. Winter was silent. They had come out of the district and were
walking along together toward the upper part of the city. The houses
kept growing larger and better. Finally they came up to the avenue where
the churches were situated--a broad, clean, well-paved street with
magnificent elms and elegant houses on either side and the seven large,
beautiful church-buildings with their spires pointing upward, almost all
of them visible from where the two men stood. They paused there a
moment. The contrast, the physical contrast was overwhelming to Philip,
and to Mr. Winter, coming from the unusual sights of the lower town, it
must have come with a new meaning.

A door in one of the houses near opened. A group of people passed in.
The glimpse caught by the two men was a glimpse of bright,
flower-decorated rooms, beautiful dresses, glittering jewels, and a
table heaped with luxuries of food. It was the Paradise of Society, the
display of its ease, its soft enjoyment of pretty things, its careless
indifference to humanity's pain in the lower town. The group of
new-comers went in, a strain of music and the echo of a dancing laugh
floated out into t