206 CHARITY'S SECRET.
speak, by this woman and her like, I gave them
what they asked for. Poverty had made them
rapacious, perhaps.
About noon there was a lull in the storm.
“Sbure, ma’am, they can’t say we’ve turned one empty-handed away,” sgid Ann, as she busied herself sorting away the remaining piles of clothing.
Ann had worked faithfully enough all week to entitle her to say ‘‘ we;” the ready tears coming as quickly to her blue eyes as the sharp word of her tongue,
I was neryously anxious there should be no complaint. I felt more deeply than I could ex- press the confidence placed in me by people who never saw my face, and was doubly fearful of failing in my duty.
After noon, however, the confusion waxed loud and fierce. The news had spread that after, today no more supplies would be received or given out, so convinced was I that the wants of all had been effectually relieved, Not one of the sufferers, I felt assured, was as comfortably provided for the winter, before the fire, as now. Several of the Germans, had told me this; most of them, the women, had taken possession of their. new rooms, and had already got work. Only one or two were here this afternoon. Be- sides these came the Clincys, the Grews, the Kellys, and all of that ilk, They broke out, in fresh numbers; the Joes appeared as Jobns, the pock-marked Peggys and Nans that had guarded the front door for days, arose, translated into Isabels and “me d’ater Constance, mem.”
They threw off all restraint, finding it was their last chance; they pulled, they dragged, they absolutely fought in the hall and vestibule, over the remaining articles.
Finding that some decisive measures were needed, as the evening came on, I enforced a moderate silence, and proceeded to divide the garments with as much justice as possible.
“Here is your bundle, Mrs. Holt. Will you go now, and make room for others?”
“My bundle, is it?” with a contemptuous sniff. ‘‘There’s none as needy as meself.”
“An’ that’s the God’s truth,” came a chorus. “She's a lone woman, with two arphant children, ma’am.”
“The committee restocked your shop?”
“An’ what’s a few bit of tapes an’ pins to keep three on? It’s little them Dutch have done for me. The b’ys are goin’ to help me out wid a ball. Mebbe ye’ll buy a ticket?” holding out a card, on which was printed, “Complimentary Supper. Mrs. Catharine Holt Admission fifty cents.’
“I think, with the ball and shop this bundle will be enough. You can go.”
A chuckle run round the room as Pa went out. “Good for yerself,” winking and nodding. ‘Much need has she of charity, Her two b’ys are grown young men, arning good wages.”
After that opened another phase of their character. They twitched my sleeve, they drew me to one corner, they beckoned, me ont to the hall.
“Them Smiths is imposing on you, good leddy. They’ve money in bank these ten years.”
‘Don’t give another haporth to dem Dutch. I saw, them selling what you giv ’em yesterday for whisky at Stulz’s, as I was a-going by to church.”
“I’d scorn to do that, I would. much feelin’.
After awhile they did not draw me aside, nor whisper, But one of them asked boldly,
“What are ye a-going to do wid that pile?” pointing to some clothes I had reserved for a woman too old to come out.
“It is for Mrs, Camp,”
“Camp, is it! Lord! ef the good people as sent these things could see how you giv to yer pets, and how the deservin’ is turned from your door! There’s them Myerses is rich,”
“That’s so! They're just rotten wid money.”
“As for me,” said a healthy, strapping Dutch girl, with her baby in her arms, “I’ve not had a rag given me,”
“No; nor will you have. Your husband has a good trade, owns the house he lives in, and you did not lose a penny’s worth by the fire.”
“I don’t care; my baby ought to be in short clothes now, and there’s lots here. They're not your’s to give; and I'll see if you dare to refuse them! They belong to us, hey!” facing me with both her black, staring eyes.
Ann opened the door, and said a few words in a low tone; and the girl went out, growling, Kerry blood told.
“Now,” said Ann, coming back into the fighting crowd, while I stood irresolute, ‘here's your bundles; the misthress’s sick ov the sight ov yez. Walk out,o’ that duer, and let me be shut ov yez for good,”
They went; but the squabbling, the abuse, the bitter taunts flung back, with all the sharpness of Irish wit and venom, made me more sick at heart than Ann could guess.
Mrs. Malone was the last. She gathered up some stray shoes in her apron, and stopping at the door, surveyed me with the furtive, watchful eyes peculiar to her race.
‘Well, good-by to ye, Mrs. Brettler! I hope v
