202 CHARITY'S SECRET.
Mrs. Malone. They followed me home, how- ever, Mrs. Grew coming last:
«Your boy died last night?” I said. I-could Hot express my pity in words, I ‘only put ty liand on hers. If it ‘had been my Charley who had died, and IT tured out if’ the homeless night, with him @ead in my arms!
She was a weak, rabbit-faced looking woman.
“He wasn’t dead when the fire broke out, mem; but he was a-dyin’.” '
“You found shelter before he died?”
“Yes’m,” with a sob.
“He is dead now?” trying to find what actual aid was needed. .
‘*N—not just to say dead, mem, but a-dyin’.”
Ann and I did what we could, of course. There was not a garment or utensil that the house or we could spare which would not be needed. We wound up the morning’s work with the twins, thoroughly washing them until the crust of dirt came off of their soft little limbs.
Mrs. Reid, the young Quakeress, came and dressed one of them, and I arranged “ Aurora” in a suit which Charley had outgrown, fiaish- ing by inducting them each into a couple of dainty little cloaks and hoods which had been given to him. When they were dressed, they were, in reality, very pretty little babes, with wide, blue eyes, and rings of curly, golden hair. Ellen carried them off with » sniff of half-con- tempt. Besides Charley’s old garments, Mrs. Reid brought baby-clothes enough to last them a year.
Dr. Brettler came in the midst of our labors.
“What have you done, George?”
He pulled out a paper. ‘Here is a list of the families who were burned out, their occu- pation, and number of children. TI got’ it from the landlords. They are all here; so this will effectiially prevent imposture.”
“Imposture? Oh, George!”
“About half of the men were mechanics, you see-shoemakers, carpenters, carvers, who have lost their tools. They might almost as well have lost their hands. The women were mostly laundresses, who went out for day's washing. About half of them are Germans; the Germans always help each other. All I had to do was to mention the matter to one or two men of means in the ward, and a meeting was called for tonight, at Beickler's Hall. You will find that enough will be contributed there to furnish the men with tools, and pay the rent for two or three months for all of the families."
"But that would not be your doing, George?"
"Of course not, Louisa. What have I to give that would be of any substantial benefit? Besides, what matters it, so their need is relieved?"
I was disappointed, although I could scarcely say how. I had been used to hear the boundless expression of gratitude of the two or three old women who lived by charity in my native town, when my mother, or any of the elder's wives visited them with aid, they being professors in the same church. I had had a vague idea all day of George playing the part of a Providence to this suffering multitude, and receiving their life -long homage and affection . Here were all my dreams resolved into a committee of Dutchmen.
"But they are naked, literally, " I urged. " They have no beds to sleep on, not a pot to cook with, or knife or fork, if they had any. thing to eat or cook."
"That must be your business, Louisa. "
"Mine?" My spirits rose instantly. It was I who was to be the helper to this miserable people!
He drew out the evening paper, and there was a short, forcible description of the destitution caused by the fire, stating at the close that contributions for the sufferers would be received street-our own and distributed at No. — ——house.
"But who knows us in Philadelphia?" I exclaimed. Who is going to make us their almoners?"
Dr. Brettler colored. " My opinion of human nature is different from yours, Lou. You will The have contributions more than enough. trouble with those who have money is, that they give too much, not too little, without proper investigation."
"Yet, after all, we are only agents," I thought; but I said nothing.
That evening passed quietly, a few packages only being left at the door. Two or three per sons who brought them came in, and talked for a few moments.
"I came at once," said one man, an educated mechanics, I thought. “A penny today is worth a dollar tomorrow, in a case like this.”
The packages consisted of bedding, clothes, and small sums of money.
“Take them into the parlor, Ann,” said Dr. Brettler.
“George, the carpet!’ Those people will be here in droves tomorrow, and there are many little trifles which I should not like to be stolen— nor would you.”
“Nor should I. But don't remove them. Let them see you trust them, and you will have nothing stolen.”
I may add just here that George was right. During the week that followed, in which our
