A letter received just before leaving the house had not
been read, but its writing was recognized, and going to the door she
tried to make out the scrawly contents and get, at the same time, the
breath of fresh air brought in by its opening as hurrying customers
came and went. To read there was impossible, however. Darkness had
fallen; and, going outside for a moment, she looked up and down at
the surging, pushing, shivering crowd and wondered as to the time.
She was not through, and she must finish before going back.
"Is Madame Santa Claus ready to go home?"
Startled, she looked up. "Oh, Mr. Laine, I'm so glad! Indeed I'm
not through, and it's dark already. Do you think Hope will mind if I
don't get back for tea?"
"I think not." He smiled in the troubled face. "What is left to be
done?"
"This among other things." Together they moved slowly down the
crowded street, and she held the letter in her hand toward him.
"It's from Mrs. Prosser, who has eleven children and a husband who is
their father and that's all. They live on faith and the neighbors,
but she has sold a pig and sent me part of the money with which to
buy everybody in the family a Christmas present. That's all I've
made out."
Laine took the sheets of paper torn from a blank-book and looked at
them under an electric light.
Pages:
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80