Beautiful Joe [12]
looked dazed. "I did not dream that it was as bad as that," she
said. "Are we worse than other towns?"
"No; not worse, but bad enough. Over and over again the saying is true, one-half
the world does not know how the other half lives. How can all this misery touch
you? You live in your lovely house out of the town. When you come in, you drive
about, do your shopping, make calls, and go home again. You never visit the
poorest streets. The people from them never come to you. You are rich, your
people before you were rich, you live in a state of isolation."
"But that is not right," said the lady in a wailing voice. "I have been thinking
about this matter lately. I read a great deal in the papers about the misery of
the lower classes, and I think we richer ones ought to do something to help
them. Mrs. Morris, what can I do?"
The tears came in Mrs. Morris' eyes. She looked at the little, frail lady, and
said, simply: "Dear Mrs. Montague, I think the root of the whole matter lies in
this. The Lord made us all one family. We are all brothers and sisters. The
lowest woman is your sister and my sister. The man lying in the gutter is our
brother What should we do to help these members of our common family, who are
not as well off as we are? We should share our last crust with them. You and I,
but for God's grace in placing us in different surroundings, might be in their
places. I think it is wicked neglect, criminal neglect in us to ignore this
fact."
"It is, it is," said Mrs. Montague, in a despairing voice. "I can't help feeling
it. Tell me something I can do to help some one."
Mrs. Morris sank back in her chair, her face very sad, and yet with something
like pleasure in her eyes as she looked at her caller. "Your washerwoman," she
said, "has a drunken husband and a cripple boy. I have often seen her standing
over her tub, washing your delicate muslins and laces, and dropping tears into
the water."
"I will never send her anything more she shall not be troubled," said Mrs.
Montague, hastily.
Mrs. Morris could not help smiling. "I have not made myself clear. It is not the
washing that troubles her; it is her husband who beats her, and her boy who
worries her. If you and I take our work from her, she will have that much less
money to depend upon, and will suffer in consequence, She is a hard-working and
capable woman, and makes a fair living. I would not advise you to give her
money, for her husband would find it out, and take it from her. It is sympathy
that she wants. If you could visit her occasionally, and show that you are
interested in her, by talking or reading to her poor foolish boy or showing him
a picture-book, you have no idea how grateful she would be to you, and how it
would cheer her on her dreary way."
"I will go to see her to-morrow," said Mrs. Montague. "Can you think of any one
else I could visit?"
"A great many," said Mrs. Morris; "but I don't think you had better undertake
too much at once. I will give you the addresses of three or four poor families,
where an occasional visit would do untold good. That is, it will do them good if
you treat them as you do your richer friends. Don't give them too much money, or
too many presents, till you find out what they need. Try to feel interested in
them. Find out their ways of living, and what they are going to do with their
children, and help them to get situations for them if you can. And be sure to
remember that poverty does not always take away one's self-respect."
"I will, I will," said Mrs. Montague, eagerly. "When can you give me these
addresses?"
Mrs. Morris smiled again, and, taking a piece of paper and a pencil from her
work basket wrote a few lines and handed them to Mrs. Montague.
The lady got up to take her leave. "And in regard to the dog," said Mrs. Morris,
following her to the door, "if you decide to allow Charlie to have one, you had
better let him come in and have a talk with my boys about it. They seem to know
all the dogs that are
said. "Are we worse than other towns?"
"No; not worse, but bad enough. Over and over again the saying is true, one-half
the world does not know how the other half lives. How can all this misery touch
you? You live in your lovely house out of the town. When you come in, you drive
about, do your shopping, make calls, and go home again. You never visit the
poorest streets. The people from them never come to you. You are rich, your
people before you were rich, you live in a state of isolation."
"But that is not right," said the lady in a wailing voice. "I have been thinking
about this matter lately. I read a great deal in the papers about the misery of
the lower classes, and I think we richer ones ought to do something to help
them. Mrs. Morris, what can I do?"
The tears came in Mrs. Morris' eyes. She looked at the little, frail lady, and
said, simply: "Dear Mrs. Montague, I think the root of the whole matter lies in
this. The Lord made us all one family. We are all brothers and sisters. The
lowest woman is your sister and my sister. The man lying in the gutter is our
brother What should we do to help these members of our common family, who are
not as well off as we are? We should share our last crust with them. You and I,
but for God's grace in placing us in different surroundings, might be in their
places. I think it is wicked neglect, criminal neglect in us to ignore this
fact."
"It is, it is," said Mrs. Montague, in a despairing voice. "I can't help feeling
it. Tell me something I can do to help some one."
Mrs. Morris sank back in her chair, her face very sad, and yet with something
like pleasure in her eyes as she looked at her caller. "Your washerwoman," she
said, "has a drunken husband and a cripple boy. I have often seen her standing
over her tub, washing your delicate muslins and laces, and dropping tears into
the water."
"I will never send her anything more she shall not be troubled," said Mrs.
Montague, hastily.
Mrs. Morris could not help smiling. "I have not made myself clear. It is not the
washing that troubles her; it is her husband who beats her, and her boy who
worries her. If you and I take our work from her, she will have that much less
money to depend upon, and will suffer in consequence, She is a hard-working and
capable woman, and makes a fair living. I would not advise you to give her
money, for her husband would find it out, and take it from her. It is sympathy
that she wants. If you could visit her occasionally, and show that you are
interested in her, by talking or reading to her poor foolish boy or showing him
a picture-book, you have no idea how grateful she would be to you, and how it
would cheer her on her dreary way."
"I will go to see her to-morrow," said Mrs. Montague. "Can you think of any one
else I could visit?"
"A great many," said Mrs. Morris; "but I don't think you had better undertake
too much at once. I will give you the addresses of three or four poor families,
where an occasional visit would do untold good. That is, it will do them good if
you treat them as you do your richer friends. Don't give them too much money, or
too many presents, till you find out what they need. Try to feel interested in
them. Find out their ways of living, and what they are going to do with their
children, and help them to get situations for them if you can. And be sure to
remember that poverty does not always take away one's self-respect."
"I will, I will," said Mrs. Montague, eagerly. "When can you give me these
addresses?"
Mrs. Morris smiled again, and, taking a piece of paper and a pencil from her
work basket wrote a few lines and handed them to Mrs. Montague.
The lady got up to take her leave. "And in regard to the dog," said Mrs. Morris,
following her to the door, "if you decide to allow Charlie to have one, you had
better let him come in and have a talk with my boys about it. They seem to know
all the dogs that are