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Helping the Helpless








I




One of the streets of lower New York where the Woman's Branch sends its workers,
among a population exceeding one million.




Helping the Helpless
In Lower New York
BY
LUCY SEAMAN BAINBRIDGE
Hon. Supt. Woman's Branch, New York City Mission Society
Author of " Round the World Letters "


INTRODUION BY
REV. A. F. SCHAUFFLER, D.D.
Nzw YORK   CHICAGO  TORONTO
Fleming H. Revell Company
DQNPow AsD EDINuVROH




131
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Copyright, I917, by
FLEMING H. REVELL COMPANY
Printed in the United States of America
New York: 158 Fifth Avenue
Chicago: I7 North Wabash Ave.
Toronto: 25 Richmond Street, W.
London: 21 Paternoster Square
Edinburgh: zoo Princes Street




TO
MY SON
WHO HAS EVER BEEN
"9CMY STRONG STAFF"P








INTRODUCTION


BY REV. A. F. SCHAUFFLER, D.D.
President New York City Mission Society
Y  long acquaintance with
Mrs. Lucy S. Bainbridge
has given me abundant
opportunity to judge of
her work as Superintendent of the Woman's Branch of the New
York City Mission Society. For eighteen
years she showed great ability and tact in
dealing with the difficult problems pertaining to her office. For this she had had
abundant preparation, having gone around
the world on a kind of missionary tour, inspecting various missionary fields. This experience fitted her peculiarly for undertaking the work in our cosmopolitan city.
With untiring zeal, with marked ability,
and with a never-failing courage, she faced


5




6


Introduction


and discharged the duties that came to her.
Mrs. Bainbridge was peculiarly apt in dealing with individual cases. These characteristics are shown very markedly in the story
she has to tell of her dealings with those
who are in peculiar danger, morally as well
as physically. These stories, true to life,
cannot fail to fascinate the sympathetic
reader who, on putting the book down, will
thank Mrs. Bainbridge for having put pen
to paper, to record such thrilling experiences.
In all her work the author has put the
spiritual filrt. This has been the policy of
the New York City Mission Society from its
start. She knows full well that when help
extends only to needs material, or even to
needs intellectual, the deepest nature of man
has not yet been reached. You can clothe
a degenerate, and feed him, and house him,
and he may still remain a degenerate. Mere
"social uplift" does not change man's character, and in this world of temptation and
sin, our aim should be predominantly that




Introduction             7
change of character which, if it really takes
place, governs the whole life for all time.
To this end Mrs. Bainbridge's efforts were
always attuned, and the success with which
she met was most gratifying and calls for
gratitude to God for his Divine assistance.
It is only fair to say, to Mrs. Bainbridge's
credit, that if there be any royalty coming to
her after publication, she desires to donate
it straight to the Treasury of the Woman's
Branch of the New York City Mission.




I




j


FOREWORD
ROM years of experience in
downtown New York I
have culled a few incidents of real life, and am
putting them in print with
several reasons in mind.
I would fain try to help the good work of
the Woman's Branch of the New York City
Mission Society, of which it was my privilege to be the Superintendent for many
years.
To the faithful workers, missionaries and
nurses of that Society, who are at all times
and in all weathers giving comfort and care,
and the love of Christ, among the poor, I
would add my word of encouragement and
praise.
To those who stand behind these workers,
and, by the giving of money, and sympathy,.9




10


Foreword


and prayer, keep the work ever moving, belongs a reward that cannot be estimated.
Part of our host have crossed the Flood,
but so large-hearted and far-sighted were
they, that though we no longer see their
faces or hear their voices, their generous
support of the work goes on and on. Mrs.
Jesup, Mrs. Osborn, Mrs. Dodge, Mrs.
Fernald, and others,-all our noble givers,
-though called dead, are yet, among many
other beneficences, building up the kingdom
of Christ on the earth, in downtown New
York.
Another reason for recording these simple stories, is that I want my grandchildren,
in the years to come, to know and to love
the work their grandmother tried to do
while she was here.
I have selected these incidents from very
many, taking only those that had a good
ending. In the work of building up Christian character, whether downtown or elsewhere, there is much need of patience and




Foreword


11


charity, and there are many disappointments; but why dwell on the dark side
all work for God is really successful. Other
real stories, more interesting than these, if
told, would bring in a personal element, that
would be unfair, perhaps, to those who have
lived downtown, in the so-called "slums,"
and who are to-day, by the blessing of God,
in high places of usefulness and dignified
position.
In all this work, with its varied demands,
not only have we needed the generous support of the members of the Woman's
Branch, but the work has, demanded Fresh
Air money, clothing, the Easter Fund, and
the giving and help of such royal girls, as
those of the Dobb's Ferry School.
For whatever of good has been  'complished, the praise belongs to all these
givers.
L. S. B.
New York City.








CONTENTS
CHAPTER                               PAGE
I. " UNDERNEATH ARE THE EVERLASTING ARMS..................   7
II. AN ADVERTISEMENT............. 25
III. ALL ROADS LEAD TO NEW YORK. 55
IV. MY SANCTUM..................   64
i V. A TENEMENT DAISY.......          7
VI. A COMPANION................. 81
VII. A LITTLE PROPERTY............ 90
VIII. FRAULEIN..............1....... OI
IX. BONNIE MARY................. 122
X. " KETCHED UP "............... 129
XI. AGED PILGRIMS............      I34
XII.  JOHN.........................  I47
XIII. "HIs FATHER SAW HIM "........ 58
XIV. SCHOLARSHIPS................... I65


13








ILLUSTRATIONS
OPPOSITE
PAGE
One of the Streets of Lower New
York.........................  Title
Five Boys were Born in this Poorest
of Homes....................... 38
A Typical Boy of the Street......... 38
A Future Citizen..................  56
A Little Curly-Head..............  72
Little Burden Bearers.............. 92
Fraulein as She was Dressed on the
Steamer and when Rescued....... Io6
Fraulein, now Mrs. Fritz, with her
Husband, and their Two Boys.... io6
An Aged Pilgrim................... 136
A Whirlpool of Humanity........... 60
A Basement Home................. i66


15




I




I


"UNDERNEATH ARE THE EVERLASTING ARMS"
W         T was a strange sight, that
windy afternoon on lower
Broadway, to see a tall
man of refined, cultured
appearance, calling  out
newspapers in the midst of the small newsboys. Both his accent and his manner were
those of an English gentleman.
My errand down town had taken me in
the car to the corner where he stood, and I
could not pass him by without trying to
solve the mystery. "Pardon me," I said,
"but you are an English gentleman. May
I ask why you are selling papers on this
city street?"
"Thank you, madam," he replied, "I am
frank to say,-because I am a stranger, I
have a sick wife, and have no money."


17




18       Helping the Helpless
I told him I was interested in helping just
such strangers, and if he would give me his
address I would be glad to go to his wife
and take a trained nurse.
The next morning, with a City Mission
nurse, carrying her bag filled with everything needed for an emergency, I found the
high building downtown, the address of
which he had given me. The man, himself,
was out selling his papers. We stumbled
up the dark stairs, flight after flight, littered
with broken pieces of plaster from the walls,
until at last we reached the top floor, and in
the dark hall groped for the door.
In response to our knock an Irishwoman,
whose breath was heavy with gin, opened
the door and welcomed us. The room into
which we were invited had two windows
looking out over the street; two beds-or
rather one bed, and a sort of "shakedown,"
where the Irishwoman and her grown son
slept; a stove, a table, a few chairs, and the
tubs, completed the furnishings.




Underneath are the Everlasting Arms 19


Opening- out of this room was a sort of
alcove room, guiltless of windows, but boasting of double doors between it and the
front room, the only air and light coming
from the front room. Here two lodgerslongshoremen-slept, and as they often
worked until late in the night, the doors
were left open all the rest of the time.
Next there was a small room, which
might have been called a good-sized closet,
had it not been for its slanting roof. As it
was, it deserved no better name than "pokehole." There was no light, and no air excepting that which came from the front
room, through the longshoremen's alcove.
Imagine what it meant when the double
doors were closed!
In this stifling place, on a bed made up of
boards, a straw mattress, and an old comfortable, lay the Englishman's wife. The
Irish landlady had been very kind to her,
and allowed her the privilege, whenever she
was able to get around, of her son's "shake



20       Helping the Helpless
down" in the front room, with its good air
and light.
The story she told us was,-her father
in England had died; there was a little
money then coming to her; they were young,
and wanted to make a place for themselves
in life, which did not seem possible to them
in England; they came to Manitoba, put
their money into a venture there, and
seemed to start out well.
One day a high wind swept over the place,
a fire broke out, which could not be controlled, and they lost everything they possessed down to their clothing. Then they
said to each other:
"If we can only get to New York-that
great and prosperous city-we can find
work and begin again. We'll surely get
along!"
Enough money was gathered together to
enable them to take the journey to New
York, and to live for a few weeks. The
husband, upon reaching the city, tried every




Underneath are the Everlasting Arms 21


avenue possible to get work. He went into
office after office, shop after shop, building
after building, beginning down on lower
Broadway. His shoes became worn, his
clothes became shabbier and shabbier, they
moved from more comfortable lodgings to
cheaper, until at length they reached the
miserable place which the Irish landlady
could rent to them, at a very low price.
When his money had dwindled down to only
eight cents, and he had pawned his overcoat,
he started out on the strest corner to peddle
papers,
After three years of married life they
were expecting their first little one.
When they were leaving their English
home, the Christian mother had given them
a Scripture text, which they were always to
repeat, and remember as her word to them,
-"Underneath are the everlasting armsthe Eternal God is thy refuge." "Never
forget it, Mary, whatever country you are
in, whatever troubles you may have to face,




22      Helping the Helpless


that God is eternal and His arms are everlasting. Your grandfather was a man of
God, and a preacher, and it was his word
to me, and now I am passing it on to you.
Never stop praying, and always remember
that whether you realize it or not, God is
your refuge."
And out of the window of the Irish woman's room on the street, high up above the
noise and the passers-by, as near to Heaven
as she could get, the little English woman,
day after day, had stretched out her hands
from the window, and said over and over
again that text, given her by her mother.
Afterward, between grateful tears and
smiles she said, "I cried unto the Lord and
He heard me,-He sent you in answer to
my prayers."
The time for the coming of the little one
was at hand, and the prospective mother
longed greatly to see her own mother, so
they decided to look no longer for work, or
to try to make a home for themselves on this




Underneath are the Everlasting Arms 23
side of the Atlantic. Through the British
Consulate we secured passage for them on
an outgoing steamer for England, and made
every preparation for their sailing early the
next Saturday morning. But the Thursday
night before, the little one came. Then
clothing for the mother and baby and necessary comforts for their voyage were provided, by kind friends of our work, and the
nurse carrying the baby, and the husband
carrying the wife down the stairs, they were
put into a cab, and taken to the steamer.
Just before going on board the ship, the
grateful man turned to say "good-bye,"and, as he thanked me again, he said, after
much hesitation, "Am I-am I-am I asking too much, if I should ask one more favor
-just one more favor?" Visions of his
seeking for a big loan of money, the fear
that perhaps he had not been as true as we
had thought him, came over my mind, and
rather coldly I replied that he might tell me




24       Helping the Helpless
of the "one more favor," and I would gladly
grant it, if I could.
Again thanking me for all the kindness
that had passed through my hands to them,
he said "The favor I should like to ask is
this-will you please name the baby?" It
was a pleasure, indeed, to give to this little
English baby, yet American born, the name
of my own boy.
Months afterward, I had a letter from the
man saying they had had a good voyage, a
warm welcome, that the wife and baby were
at the mother's home in Sussex, and that he
had obtained a fair position.




II


AN ADVERTISEMENT
WANT to go to New
York, Aunt Jennie. I'm
tired of this stupid old
town. I feel like breaking away and trying for
a job where things are moving. If I keep
books here in this factory, surely I can get
a start at something in New York and work
myself up."
It was a pleasant room, with its old-fashioned furniture, dainty curtains, and growing plants, and a canary swinging contentedly in its gilded cage in the bay-window.
A girl sat at the window, gazing intently
beyond the little yard into the street with its
few passers-by.
With the weekly paper on her lap, and
spectacles pushed up on her forehead, an
25




26


Helping the Helpless


older woman quietly listened, and not until
a sigh escaped her lips did the girl turn.
"Viry," and the aunt's voice quivered as
she spoke, "You're all I got. You know I
can't git along without you. We'll take a
trip to New York soon's we can manage it.
I do want to git this little mortgage off, and
then if anything happens to me you'll have
a home clear-a woman can git on putty
comf'table if she's got a home-after that
we'll go together, and see New York, Viry."
"But that isn't it, Auntie, I can't settle
down in this dull old town. Settle down in
a prison? Oh, I never can! I go down the
same long street-past the same housesthe same store and postoffice-the same old
yards, where the same old things are hanging on the lines, except perhaps for a new
patch or two. Then at night I come back
-same old street-same people. Truly, I
am like a prisoner pacing up and down his
cell."
"I know how you feel mor'n you think,"




__


An Advertisement


L27


replied the older woman gently, "but it's
prison all through life, Viry-if 'tisn't one
kind 'tis another. I've found that out.
Wa'n't that John Farnum went by just now?
Poor fellow! What a sorry time he's had
-and now that motherless baby to care for.
I'm glad the old aunt has come to help out
a spell-old aunts is pretty good to have
around sometimes, hey?"
"Oh, you dear Aunt Jennie, I know what
you're thinking of," said the girl, as she
quickly left her seat at the window, and
threw herself down on the floor beside her
aunt, putting her head on her lap. And as
the twilight gathered, they clung to each
other-the old withered hand gently stroking the curly brown head.
"I'll never marry him, Auntie, I just know
what you're thinking of-I'll never marry
him. He ought never to have believed that
story-I suppose I was hasty and spoke too
quick, but I was mad, and maybe-well,
we're friends again, anyway, and that's what




28       Helping the Helpless


we'll stay now-never, never anything else.
He was down at the mill last week and had
the baby girl with him cute little thing.
The men talked so loud little Molly put out
her arms to come to me, and then cuddled
up close, as though she was afraid and
wanted a woman to hold her. Don't you
think any more about John Farnum, Auntie,
that's all past and gone. He's likely to go
to Roxton again, and come back engaged to
one of those nice girls down there. It's all
right. Men can slip away easy when they
have trouble. They don't have to stay behind prison bars, do they? Poor Molly
didn't stay long, even in her happinessonly a little over a year-and now here's her
precious baby-motherless. I'm sorry for
her-I'm sorry for myself. Life seems gray
and dull-I'm gray-Gray by name and I
guess I'm gray by nature-gray inside and
gray outside-but there's one thing shines
bright, sure, I do love my own dear Aunt
Jennie."




An Advertisement


Taking the girl's face between her hands,
the aunt talked kindly and practically to her
about helping other girls of the village, and
becoming interested in some of the forms of
work and pleasure in the church, of the
social, literary and musical life, which really
could be found, though in small measure,
even in their little town.
"Elviry, have a share in all these things.
There's lots of happy doings right here.
You're needed-just you. What was it the
man said who preached for our minister last
Sunday-'Be in harmony with' —"
"With your environment," added the girl,
"Be in harmony with your environment, but
make it broader every day until it reaches
the eternal horizon."
"That's it, I know, but I can't say it. Now,
run along, child, to the Song Service.
You've got a good voice, Viry. Give out the
best you have and the best'll come back
to you. I'll have a nice bit of supper ready
when you get back, and if ydu see any lone



30       Helping the Helpless
some girl ask her to come along with you.
There's plenty-for Sunday night is a lonesome time for them that hasn't any home."
Days became weeks, and Elvira Gray's
feeble attempts to become a part of the village activities gradually died out; and she
trudged along to and from the mill at the
other end of the long street, with a mental
fog settling down over her heart and her
face, until she began to look like her name
-gray!
John Farnum had gone away on a long
business trip, and his baby, Molly, had been
taken to visit the mother's relatives in Roxton.
A paper dropped from the pocket of a
Chicago drummer, near her desk, one day
at the mill, and as Elvira picked it up she
glanced at the advertisements, with the halfthought of finding that some firm in that
great city needed a bookkeeper, but her eyes
fell on this:




An Advertisement


31


WANTED: A retired business man of New
York City, who has been too
much engrossed with his work to
care for social life, desires correspondence with a young lady
under thirty, with a view to matrimony.
"There can't be any harm in it," Elvira
said to herself, "and I'll get a little fun.
I'm several years under thirty, and he doesn't mention beauty or a fortune-I'll write,
just to see what comes of it."
Her letter was soon answered, and followed by others.   The "retired business
man" explained how he had made his money
by denying himself the pleasures most
young men indulge in, and now, as the
years loomed up before him, he realized the
loneliness which would be his. His mother
had died, then a sister-he had few relatives and none very near. He was a lonely
man, and longed to find just the woman
who would be suitable, pleasant and companionable, for his older life.
As the letters grew longer and came more




32       Helping the Helpless
frequently, and were filled with bright pictures of life in the great Metropolis, the
girl's face brightened, and she went daily to
and from the mill with the springing step
of a few years before.
"Elviry," said the aunt one day, as she
stood waiting on the porch for her coming, "you seem so much younger, and the
pink has come back into your cheeks a little
-been takin' that tonic I urged you to try?
Something makes you glad-what is it?
But then again you look anxious and worried. I've been watchin' you. Come intell me about it." Putting her arm closely
about the girl, she continued:
"Viry, I'm too old not to see thingsyou've got something on your mind-I've
been seein' it. I'm the only mother you've
got-now, tell me."
With many a halt, with many an excuse,
and with much hesitation,. the story of the
unknown lover was told. The aunt listened,
as the awful fear of all it might mean




An Advertisement


33


clutched at her heart.  Stifling a groan
which arose in her throat, she said:
"Oh, Viry, show me his picture-what is
he like-I'm scared for you-how can you
tell that it's all right? Oh dear, Oh dear!"
"Now, Auntie, please listen. He has a
pretty home-it's what he calls 'a flat'-with
nine rooms facing on a small park,-and
there's to be a place always for you, always
for you. I wrote him about you, and how
you had been my mother ever since I was a
little baby, and how good you have always
been to me, and how I do love you. He
says it will give him real happiness to have
a room all fitted up for you, and he thinks
more of me, he says, for being so true to
you."
"But," and the girl's face became a vivid
red, as she went on, "he wants me to come
on and be there a few weeks to help him to
get things fixed up before you come-do
you see? He seems a very lonely man,
auntie, with few friends."




34      Helping the Helpless


The unknown bachelor made no mention
in his letters about money, but suggested as
the apartment was being painted and decorated that his future bride might like to send
on any silver, glassware or linen by freight,
and he would attend to the unpacking, and
so save her the trouble, and have the place
seem more homelike when she arrived.
Accordingly, two boxes of treasured keepsakes were packed, crated and shipped; a
box of preserves and jellies was also sent,
with bill-of-lading to the gentleman in New
York.
"Oh, Auntie, I feel really acquainted with
Mr. Stemson. I've learned through his letters that he is awfully fond of sweet potatoes, and you know how fine they are, in
this part of the country. I'm going to surprise him by sending on a barrel, just before
I go, keeping the bill-of-lading, and attending to it myself after I get there.
"Yes, Auntie, I too am sorry he can't
come down, and you see him and we be




An Advertisement


35


married right here. I've been hoping right
along he could-but he says I've no idea
how busy a man can be in New York. Even
though he is not in active business he has
many things to attend to every day. It's
likely he has stocks and bonds and banking
to look after, and has to go to Wall Street,
and all that. But, he will meet me at the
train, and if anything should happen to keep
him away, or if the train should be over
late, I have full directions where I am to go,
and I am just to take one of those new
cabs called a 'taxi' at the station-so you
see how perfectly easy it will be."
"Elviry," interrupted her aunt, "I can't
let you go this way. I'm sick with fearyou must let me talk with the pastor, and ask
him to find out about this Mr. Stemson-he
must know people in New York who can tell
whether all this is true, and the man all
right. Viry, I can't let you go this wayOh, I can't! I can't!"
"Nobody is to know, Auntie," said the




36      Helping the Helpless


girl very decidedly, "until I send the wedding cards. I won't have this village get to
talking. They must just think I'm going on
a trip to see a friend-that is perfectly true
-Mr. Stemson is now my friend. I'll send
word as soon as the wedding's over, and if
I can-yes, I'll do it-I'll send some wedding cake, and then the people may talk
all they want to,-but not one word now.
And then soon, very soon, you'll come and
we'll be together again. Oh, cheer up,
Auntie, cheer up."
Faithfully and patiently the aunt tried to
show the girl the danger of trusting a man
she knew only through correspondence;
urged her to tell their minister, and have
him make inquiries, and then, as a last resource, begged to be allowed to accompany
her to New York, but all in vain; she found
it impossible to change the plans of the
headstrong girl.
But when Elvira was starting, with her
arm close about the girl, the aunt said,




- -


An Advertisement


37


"Viry, ye won't let me go with ye, but I'll
follow ye, and hold ye with my prayersGod's in New York too, and He'll watch
over ye."
The Western train came rushing in to the
great station three quarters of an hour late.
Elvira was swept along with the crowd of
passengers, a "red cap" porter seized her
bag, and hurried her on to a stand where
cabs and taxies were waiting.
"Of course he won't be here now. There's
no use looking. I do wonder if I would
know him, anyway. A photo is so different,
sometimes, and mine of him was taken so
long ago."
Such thoughts surged through the girl's
mind, as, bewildered and fearful, she allowed herself to be helped into one of the
taxies by the "red-cap" porter.
In her new green suit with hat to match,
a touch of scarlet at her throat, the color of
the wing on her hat, with a still brighter




38      Helping the Helpless


scarlet glowing in her cheeks, the brownhaired girl made a very attractive picture.
On went the taxi, through crowded busy
streets, down Fifth Avenue, past shops and
shoppers-the girl's heart joyous one moment with the excitement of it all, and then
again heavy with fear of the unknown.
"I'll soon write Aunt Jennie how everything is splendid.  I'm sure I'm right in
coming. I wish I had seen him once, just
once, before   "'
A feeling of pride braced her as she saw
the beautiful shop windows and thought,
"I'll be one of these New Yorkers, and soon
be in the swim of it all."
Crossing and turning at several streets the
taxi stopped at last on East I3th Street.
"This can't be the place-no indeed," and
Elvira took out the last letter she had received containing the full address. "Driver,
are you sure this is the number I gave you?
There must be some mistake!" and her mind
flashed back to the past descriptions.




FIVE SONS
were born, in this, the poorest of homes. When the last was a
few days old the father complained about such a big family.
He went away-has never returned.


A TYPICAL BOY OF THE STREET


(




I




An Advertisement


39


"Where is the small park? Where is the
'flat with nine rooms' with 'pleasant outlook on grass and old trees'?"
Helpless and fearful she settled back in
the taxi loath to get out.
"Miss, excuse me, but you seem like you
didn't know New York. This is the number you give me; and mayhap you don't
think about the way a taxi does be eatin'
up money-standin' or goin.' It's all to the
good for me, but I hate's to see a strange
young lady git cheated."
When the taxi with its friendly driver
had disappeared and Elvira was left on the
pavement alone, bag in hand, her heart
sank like lead.
"This is the number. This is the street,"
she said, as she looked the house over from
roof to cellar.
In the basement a Chinaman was busily
engaged ironing-too busy to even glance
up. At the next floor in one of the windows appeared the sign "Rooms to Let."




40      Helping the Helpless


The front steps were old and broken and
dirty. A man opened the dingy front door,
and came out, which gave Elvira a glimpse
of the dismal hallway.
"What am I to do-what am I to do!"
Elvira asked herself, and then the cheering
thought came to her, "Why this is a place,
perhaps, where Mr. Stemson has his office;
or where he attends to some business, and
expects to meet me here and then we can go
to the apartment, or to the-church."
This thought brought new courage and
the girl mounted the steps, just as a kindlyfaced woman opened the door to come out.
"Does Mr. James Stemson have an office
here?" she asked, "I mean-is he here
now?" and, taking the letters which contained the address from her bag, Elvira
looked inquiringly into the face of the woman, who, in turn, was looking the girl
over from the top of her pretty green hat
to the tip of her new shoes.
"And is it Misther Sthemson ye be want





An Advertisement'


`41


in' Miss?  Yis-he's shure here-he istook a room three days back-sicond floor
-rear." She added to herself, "I'm wonderin' phat the loikes of her is wantin' now
of the loikes of him-she looks a dacent little
loidy." "If you follow me up I'll show ye
his room."
This landlady, whose heart was as big as
her capacious body, and whose long experience with men lodgers and their ways in
the great city, had made suspicious, was
very willing to guide this strange girl up the
stairs instead of sending her alone.
With a loud knock at the door with her
knuckles, the landlady opened it saying, "It's
Misther Sthemson the young loidy be askin'
fur."
In one comer of the room by the window, in an old worn easy chair, sat a slouchy,
baldheaded man chewing on the stub of a
cigar. He was dressed in a cheap plaid
suit, and worn russet shoes. A collar lay
on the table near him, and his shirt was




42      Helping the Helpless


anything but fresh. He started up from the
chair, but dropped back as his eyes were
fixed upon the pretty girl, seeming, for the
moment, dazed by the attractive picture she
madse.
"Um-um, Mrs. McCarthy," he said,
"Much obliged-um, um-this is my little
Daisy come to me from the far away. Come
right in, my bird," and putting out his foot
drew a chair, as dilapidated as the one in
which he sat, toward him without arising.
"Come in-come right in-you are-you
are a pretty bunch-come in."
The girl stood at the door as though
turned to stone. Mrs. McCarthy caught the
look of horror on her face and quickly decided it was her duty to stay close by, although the man kept telling her he would
not detain her, and now that the young lady
he expected had arrived, he had no further
need of the landlady's kind services-would
she go about her own business?
Mrs. McCarthy smiled broadly and said to




'An Advertisement


43


herself, "Biddy McCarthy happens to know
her own bisness just at prisent, and that is
to sthay close by this gurrl."
Elvira, in a voice shaking with excitement, crossed the threshold of the door and
said, "This can't be-oh, it can't be Mr.
James Stemson!   Oh, say that you are not
-who are you? Tell me!"
"Come along in, my Daisy, and let us
talk things over-come-don't be scared of
me-I'm not so bad, even if I am Jim Stemson." He arose from his lounging position
and came toward her. "Come, my Daisy,
come in," putting out a long gaunt arm to
embrace her. The girl stepped back, just
escaping it, and clutched at the arm of the
landlady who stood close behind her.
"Come on, my love. We are to go to the
man who will marry us to-night. You don't
find me as handsome as you expected, do
you? Is that it? Well, you look mighty
pretty yourself, and dressed to kill-a fine
little bird you are."




44      Helping the Helpless


The man stood eagerly gazing at her,
ready to grasp her, but Elvira, holding
tightly to the landlady's arm broke forth
"I'll never, never marry you. Don't you
dare to lay your hands on me-don't you
dare! You are not my Mr. Stemson I have
had letters from-it's impossible! I must
find my Mr. Stemson. You are not he.
You are-you are     " "A liar," said the
landlady in a loud whisper.
"Go easy-go easy, my bird. You promised to marry me-me-and you're going
to stay here with me to-night. You're in
New York. I've your promise, and you've
come all the way to see me. I didn't bring
you. Now take things as you find them and
let's get married right away-quick. Come
on-be a good sport! I'm a bit down on my
luck just now-things have been going a
little bad with me. But we can hock that
new bag and get enough for a wedding supper, and pay the preacher too." And then,
with an oath, he added, "Mrs. McCarthy,






An Advertisement


45


will you get out of here? Can't you leave
a man alone with his sweetheart?" and he
grabbed the door with one hand and took
hold of the girl with the other, to pull her
into the room. With a scream she threw
herself upon the landlady whose great strong
arm was about her.
"This is a divil's trap, ye villin," said
Mrs. McCarthy in a voice that had in it the
ring of power. "I'll be afther exposin' ye,
I will-me cousint's husbandt is on the perlice, and yer name's not Sthemson-mebbe
it's one of yer ould names-onyway, this
game's all up fer ye-this gurrl sez she
won't marry ye, and she shan't."
Cursing Mrs. McCarthy, the girl, and his
own bad luck, the man slunk back in his corner muttering that all would have been well
if the girl had not trusted to a lying old
Irishwoman.
Quickly Mrs. McCarthy slammed to the
door, and holding the frightened girl with




46      Helping the Helpless


one arm, led her up the stairs to her own
rooms.
"We'll be havin' a cup of hot tay in me
own little place.  It'll sure warm  the
cockles of your heart! You need have no
fear now-ye can trust Bridget McCarthy,
shure!"
The kind-hearted woman did not ask any
questions, but after placing the trembling
girl in a comfortable seat and slipping off
her hat, talked on in cheering tones, telling
how she lived in the two rooms and more
than paid her rent by taking care of the
house; of how she had a woman two days
i-. the week to do the heavy cleaning; of how
her husband Patrick, worked on a boat on
The Sound, and was gone three days and
home three days; of how the extra day of
the week he sometimes had to be in Bridgeport and sometimes in New York.
Somehow, the welcome, the hot tea and
the feeling of safety, in the little room of the
strong woman, warmed the girl's heart into




An Advertisement


47


confiding her story to Mrs. McCarthy and
asking her advice.
"You poor darlint, now, I'm glad I was
to home this day. I had been thinkin' of
goin' up to me cousint's for a bit of a visit,
but I was here and could save ye, Praise the
Lord, from that ould villin. This night
me man is here, but he's lavin' airly the
'morrow. The best I can do fer ye I'll do.
There's not an empty bed in all this place,
and onyway I wouldn't trust you away from
me this night, for ye're safe with Biddy
McCarthy-I'll be contrivin' somethin'."
With a soap box at her feet, and an old
quilt on a wooden chair to soften it, Elvira
was put into the small room of the McCarthy home, which was really a closet,
where pails and tubs and ice-chest were
kept.
All through that long night the girl sat
listening to the heavy breathing of Patrick
McCarthy in the next room, thinking, thinking, praying, wondering what she was to do.




48       Helping the Helpless


In the small hours of the night Mrs. McCarthy on tiptoe opened the door a crack
and whispered, "How are ye gettin' on, me
dear? Me man makes,a foine noise-I hope
it doesn't throuble ye. Sometoimes it do be
loike the band on Saint Pathrick's Day.
Don't be scart-will ye? Ow, that ould rat
of a man! That ould villin! I'm indade
glad I was home this day."
"Phwat's that, Biddy," said a voice from
under the bed covers, in the next room,
"You heard a rat? Wait 'til the mornin'
thin catch it; set yer trap."
The next day Mr. McCarthy was off on
his three-day job, and Elvira was cuddled
into his side of the bed, where she was told
to "lay shtill and be aisy in her moind."
Sleep was impossible, but as she rested
and prayed, the question "What am I to
do?" kept saying itself over and over again.
Though the door was kept locked, she
started in fear at every sound outside. But
Mrs. McCarthy, doing her cleaning of halls






An Advertisement


49


and stairs, kept one ear toward the room of
her lodger.
"I can't go home; I can't stay here," was
the constant cry in the girl's heart. "What
will I do? Oh, supposing Mrs. McCarthy
had not been here! God has helped meOh, He will-but how?"
The check for her trunk was still in her
possession, and a few dollars in her purse.
With many misgivings Elvira found her
way to the head office of the railroad, on
Broadway, and inquired whether or not
they would take her few dollars, keep her
trunk as security, and let her have a through
ticket to Millville. If so she would surely
return the money, the very day she reached
her home.
The clerk informed her that this arrangement was impossible; that the railroad must
have cash for the ticket. At that moment
an elderly man came forward, from the rear
of the office, and asked her a few questions
gently and kindly. "We cannot grant you




50      Helping the Helpless


this favor, I'm sorry to say, but take my
card to a lady-a friend of mine-who will
perhaps be able to advise you what to do."
The lady to whom this railroad official
sent Elvira was the writer of this little
story.
It was not difficult for an experienced and
sympathetic woman to draw from the girl
the real facts in the case, although at first
there was an effort on her part to invent a
little tale and avoid the real truth. Having
the whole story, the work of helping the
girl could be taken hold of with loving zeal.
A missionary - a practical Christian
worker in the crowded tenements-was
ready for service.  She started right out
with Elvira to the house on East I3th
Street, where Mrs. McCarthy was anxiously
awaiting the return of her "darlint."
The three then went together to Mr.
Stemson's room, where he was still lounging, filling the smoke from his pipe with
curses on his bad luck. They informed






An Advertisement


51


him, in no uncertain tones, that his supposed
victim was in the hands of friends. He
threatened and swore and called Elvira the
vilest names he could think of. He would
let her village friends know her real character. He would tell them —
The strain of the journey, the fear and
excitement and lack of sleep had made the
girl really too ill to travel. Fortunate was
it that the son of the writer was a physician,
ready to give any help. Rest, comfort and
care were also given the poor, frightened
girl.
The missionary found that Mr. Stemson's
"place of business" was a low Bowery
saloon, where he washed the glasses and
cleaned up the floor when he was not selling
liquor over the counter.
The man had had a fair education in
early life and had married a dressmaker;
while she lived and supported him he kept
up a semblance of manhood, but after her
death, through liquor, petty gambling and




52      Helping the Helpless


laziness, he easily slid down the hill of respectability, into, the gutter of low saloon
life.
After a visit to the freight offices, two
of the boxes which Elvira had sent to this
man were finally located in the basement of
the saloon, and had not been opened. With
the help of a policeman and the charge,
"goods held under false pretences," they
were allowed to take possession of them,
and they were afterward shipped back to
Millville.
The third box, filled with preserves and
jellies, Stemson had sold to a pawnbroker,
whose children were enjoying one of the
jars when Elvira and the missionary arrived at the shop. The barrel of sweetpotatoes was taken from the freight office
and given away.
Money was loaned, a through ticket with
sleeper secured at reduced rates, and a
grateful, happy and wiser girl was taken to




An Advertisement


53


the station, and stayed with until the train
started.
Much wiser was Elvira than when she
arrived in the great Metropolis. Some of
the lessons she had learned were, that
though New York has many wicked and unscrupulous people, and while there are many
traps laid for unwary feet, yet there is a
host of men and women, full of goodness
and generosity and Christian love, ready to
lend a hand to the foolish and unfortunate.
"Good-bye-may God bless you," said the
girl with a happy face.  "Good-bye.  I
never, never can hope to repay you for your
goodness to me."
Everyone in Millville said Elvira Gray
was greatly changed by her trip to New
York-she seemed so sweet, now, and kind
and happy; yet they thought it very strange
that she never talked about her journey, or
told them about the good times she had had
in the great city.
A few months later there was a wedding




54       Helping the Helpless
in the village church in Millville, and Elvira
Gray became Mrs. John Farnum. When
they were planning their honeymoon, John
said, "Elvy, where shall we go for our
pleasure trip?"
"Anywhere-anywhere, John," was the
answer, "anywhere, except to New York. I
never want to see that city again."




III


ALL ROADS LEAD TO NEW YORK
WOMAN, and little girl of
about twelve years of age,
came into my room at the
Bible House, some years
go, bringing a note from
a railroad official asking me to kindly advise
the woman, who had begged for a reduced
ticket for the child.
The woman and girl were so nearly alike
that it was almost amusing, the one was such
a miniature copy of the other,-the same
dark eyes, the same shaped nose and mouth,
and even their voices had the same tone and
accent.
"This is your little girl?" I said to the
woman. "No," she replied, shifting her
eyes from one to another, "no, she is no


55




56      Helping the Helpless


relation to me; I picked her up on a train
as I was coming from the West, she was
travelling alone, and I felt sorry for her,I went to the railroad company to get a
ticket for her, so I could take her back, to
where she says she came from; I feel very
sorry for her." During this explanation
the child's eyes became wet and her face
flushed, as she clenched her little hands together, but said nothing. "Do you think
you could have forgotten? Are you sure
that this is not your little child?" "Oh,
yes," replied the woman, bracing up to the
lie she had told, "I never saw her before
until on the train nearly to New York; if
I had the money I would buy her a ticket
myself, but I haven't enough."
The child responded to my kindness as I
put my arm around her, laying her head for
a moment against my shoulder, as she
sobbed. "You see," said the woman, "she
is a dear little thing and I want to take her
back to where, she says, her home is."




A FUTURE CITIZEN
Taking little sister with him to school. Later lie will join a Fresh Air party for a fortnight
in the country.




I




All Roads Lead to New York    57


All my questioning brought out only the
statement that the child was an utter
stranger, made each time in a more and more
positive tone.
Then, at last I thanked the woman for her
loving interest in the little waif, and told
her that as she was no relation, and had no
claim upon her, I would help, and the child
would be placed in good care until her
family could be found, and then I would
see that she was sent to them.
The woman's face flushed, her eyes roved
from one to another, she started to speak,
and after a moment's silence said, "If I had
the money I'd stay near by to see what you
do with her, at least a few days. I got very
interested in her seeing her on a train
alone."
The Home for Homeless Girls welcomed
Dora, and a place near by was secured for
the woman. Two days later, as I had ex.
pected, the woman came to herself, broke
down, and with tears and sobs said, "0, I




58       Helping the Helpless
lied, I have lied; I have committed the unpardonable sin; I have disowned my own
child; I'm going away where she can't see
me. I am a sinner; I have lied-lied; I
know you will be good to her, and by and
by I'll send money and have her come to
me."
Everything was done at the Home to
make Dora happy, but at night she would
sob herself to sleep, saying over and over,
"Oh, my mother told a lie, my mother said
I was not her little girl-that awful lie."
The child grew pale and sick, under the
strain, notwithstanding the loving home life
around her. After a few weeks we received
a letter from the mother, from Cleveland,
saying she had a good position working out
by the day, and had a little home of two
rooms, and would like to have the child
sent on to her-she would return us the
money, if we would advance it. Every effort was made to find out more about the
mother. From all reports she was indus



All Roads Lead to New York 59


trious and an earnest churchgoer, devoted to a small mission, where she was
very active. Having friends in Cleveland,
upon whom to rely in case of need, we
decided that it was best to let the little
girl go to her mother, and share the
mother's life. We fitted her out with comfortable clothing, and away she went under
the care of a travelling friend, as happy
as a child can be. Her last word as she
left us was, "my mother does love me I
know; she is sorry for that awful lie."
Before leaving me I sewed into her
pocket a small stamped envelope addressed
to myself, and said to her: "Dora, your
mother does love you, and I hope you are
going to have very good times with her,
but if any kind of trouble comes, and you
need a friend, send this little envelope
back to me, and I will understand and try
to help you. Two months had passed when
I received in the mail my envelope, and
inside was a little note from a neighbor,




60       Helping the Helpless
a woman who lodged in the same house
with Dora and her mother.
"For God's sake, lady, get this child away
from here; she is getting killed." My
friend in Cleveland found the home, and
the child and her mother; everything seemed
all right. It was put to the mother that
Dora was looking a little pale, and wouldn't
the mother like her to take a trip to New
York, with my friend, for her health's sake.
The mother's consent was gained provided
I would promise to have her taught French.
After reaching the station the mother
suddenly changed her mind, and just as my
friend got the child inside the gates and
was entering the car, the mother, with a
scream, tried to follow, and get on the train
without a ticket, but was pushed back just
as it started.
Little Dora reached New York as pitiful
a little girl as anyone would want to see;
she was thin, haggard and sad. Her story
was this:-Her mother was a missionary




All Roads Lead to New York 61


worker believing the end of the world was
close at hand. She wanted her child to
follow in her footsteps, and be ready. She
took her to meetings every night, and
brought her home to her rooms, and then
soaked the girl's feet in cold water above
the knees, so as to extract the evil f rom
her nature.  The mother fed her with
ashes, for the purification of her soul,
and when the child refused she would
sharpen the great butcher knife she had,
and draw the back of the knife across
her neck, telling her that God had told her
to punish her, and that she would put the
sharp edge on i f she said a word.
Besides being thin and wretched, Dora
came back with a hard cough, which we
found immediately was whooping-cough.
The Home for Homeless Girls, of course,
could not take her in. There was no institution or suitable place in the great city
for her under the circumstances, but., fortunately, in my own home there was no one




62       Helping the Helpless


who would be endangered, so that Dora
came to me, and for over a year, was my
own devoted, happy child. Measles followed the whooping-cough, after which she
went to public school.
In the meantime, by correspondence, we
began a search for her relatives, and discovered that there was an uncle by marriage, in the far West, who had been
alienated from Dora's mother for years.
At last there was a welcome for the child
with her own people.
A little girl about her size, the daughter
of one of the ladies interested in our work,
passed on to the Heavenly Home, and the
clothing she no longer needed just fitted
our waif. Well clothed, with her pretty
travelling suit and coat, Dora, who was
now a bright, cheery girl, was taken by
the Children's Aid Society, to the West.
There, in the home of her uncle, she
learned to play the little organ, and was a
very happy and useful girl.




All Roads Lead to New York 63


Years after, Dora married, and she and
her husband went still farther wvest into
Oklahoma, took up a claim of unoccupied
land, and in a little rough log cabin lived
until they owned the land. In this log cabin
she gathered her nearest neighbors for a
Sunday service, and with the aid of her
little organ made it very attractive. The
young man, to whom Dora gave her heart,
did not prove as true and steadfast as she
could hope, and finally deserted her; but
Dora's Christian character has stood every
test. She is now filling a good position in
the far Southwest, yet ever longing to come
once more to New York.




IV


MY SANCTUM
HEN    the  City  Mission
offices were moved from
the old Bible House to
the new and commodious
building of the United
Charities, furnished by the generosity of
Mr. John S. Kennedy, a very cosy, comfortable room was fitted up for the Superintendent of the Woman's Branch. Beside the regular furnishings of desk, chair,
etc., there was a comfortable rocker, willow
lounge, and ornaments on the mantelpiece,
which gave it a very homelike atmosphere.
Into this sanctum came, from day to day,
very many and very varied people, with all
kinds of trouble.
A young man, a stranger in New York,
had touched the work of our society, and,


64




1My Sanctum         65


in his longing for companionship other
than that of the cheap boarding house
where he lived, came in at his noon hour,
to ask me how he could get acquainted with
some nice girls. His home circle, in the
small town where he had lived, had been
very dear to him, with cousins and aunts
and friendly young people, but New York
was a wilderness, and he felt utterly forlorn.
At another time a gentleman called who
wished the door quite closed during his interview, and then confidentially told me of
the death of his very lovely and educated
wife and the utter loneliness which had
followed. He could not find another helpmate in his own country parish, and needed
a woman as nearly like his wife as possible,
who could help him with church work, and
read over his sermons, and make practical
suggestions. Would I think over his need,
and introduce him to some attractive lady
missionary of the Woman's Branch?




66       Helping the Helpless


One visitor was a young man from a far
distant mission station who had gone out
alone, was home on his furlough, but did
not want to return without a helpmate. He
found all the girls he used to know and
like, married and, as he said, "the younger
girls don't seem to care for much beside
tango, and we don't have that kind out
where I live." He needed a little advice
about a certain young lady he had heard I
knew very well. Suffice to say he returned
to his mission field with a very suitable and
charming wife.
Another caller was a woman so decorated
with chains and beads and rings and bracelets, that it was difficult to know whether
she was a Hottentot or an American. She
had a business venture which would make
any one investing largely in it very rich
indeed-the returns would be sure and large
and speedy. I was given the opportunity
of thus becoming a millionaire on the condition that I give her the names of rich women




__


My Sanctum


67


who knew me, and a letter to each endorsing the scheme, and gaining for her entrance to their homes for private interviews.
It is needless to say that neither to her nor
to any other person, for any cause whatever,
did I give names or letters of this kind.
One morning a sad-faced young woman
in black came in, whose story ran like this:
Her husband was dying with tuberculosis;
his people were paying for him to have the
care he needed in a sanitarium, but it was
an incurable case. She had been living with
her father, but now he had died, and she
must find work to support herself and her
little two-year-old girl.  Her husband's
people were not able to help her, and she
did not know which way to turn. The
blue eyes filled with tears as she told of
how little strength she had for the battle
of labor outside of home, and how she had
prayed for courage. "Oh, I must find
work," she said, "and I must find work
where I can keep my little girl with me.




68       Helping the Helpless


Don't tell me that that will be impossible."
A caller in the main office outside was
demanding my attention, and telling her
to make herself comfortable in the rocking
chair, until we could see what could be
done, what plan could be devised to help
her to help herself, I went out to meet a
young man, strong, alert, earnest, wvho said,
"You perhaps don't remember me, Mrs.
Bainbridge, but I know you, and I have
come because I think you can help me. You
know my two little girls have no mother;
poor Mary died a year ago. I have tried
to keep things together by hiring different
kinds of women to help, but it's no go.
The other day I went home from my job
and found things just worse than crooked.
Now, I can't stop my work to stay home,
and I've got to find somebody who will be
good to my children. I can hire the scrubbing and washing; I can't afford two or
three servants, but I have a good little home
on Long Island, partly paid for. I want




My Sanctum


69


somebody that'll keep my home and be good
to my kiddies."
"Will you take a very nice little woman,
with her two-year-old child? She cannot
do the heavy washing and scrubbing, but
she can cook, and keep your home, and I
am sure would be very kind to your little
ones."
He stopped a moment to think, then gave
his leg a vigorous slap, saying, "By George,
that's the thing exactly. Where can I find
her?"
"She is here," I replied, "waiting for
you."
A little later I looked out of the window,
and watched the two walking off together.
Perhaps it was two or three years afterward that the same young man came into
the office and greeted me most cordially.
"I had to come," he said, "to thank you
for giving to my children and to my home
one of the best little women in all this big




70       Helping the Helpless
world. She's my wife now, and here's a
photograph I brought to show you."
It was a family group.
"Here," he said, "are my two children
and me; this is her child and here she is;
and this little boy in her lap-fine little fellow, isn't he?-is ours."
Into this Sanctum came nurse or missionary to talk over and get light on the
many problems of drink and poverty and
sickness encountered from day to day.
How much to help, what agencies to use,
how best to make those helped learn thereby
to help themselves,-all these and many
other questions had to be talked over. Ever
bearing in mind, in all our work, that it was
not a ministry to bodies alone, with that
help given, we endeavored to reach minds
and souls, and to build up Christian character.




V


A TENEMENT DAISY
ITS of plaster were broken
off from the dirty walls,
the wood-work was dingy
and the floor even worse,
in a room where a
woman, bending over a sewing-machine, sat
close to an unwashed window which looked
out upon a court filled with clothes-lines,
overflowing garbage barrels and other
refuse. Her dress was faded and ragged
and her hair in disorder, yet, notwithstanding this, real beauty of form and features
could readily be seen, and it was not difficult to believe that in her younger days the
woman had served as an artists's model.
On the floor in the centre of the room
sat a man and his two-year-old boy playing
together with straws and tiny sticks. In a
71




72       Helping the Helpless


dark corner a little girl was doubled up in
an old, worn-out, broken-down rockingchair, minus a rocker, trying to shield her
inflamed eyes from even the dim light. The
noise of the rattling old sewing-machine
drowned the sound of the knock, and as
the missionary caller stepped into the room
the man gave a start, looked up curiously
for an instant, then went on playing with
the child.
The sewing-machine was slowed up and,
after a greeting from her caller, the woman
said in a low voice, pointing to her husband
and touching her head in a significant way:
"He's bad to-day-was in the sun yesterday awhile. Things goes hard with me.
My cough ain't no better,-keeps me awake
and makes him mad. Mary don't seem to
never get over the measles. He says she's
goin' to get blind."
An opportunity to go with a special
Fresh Air party, where the girl would be
well looked after and have all the milk and




A LITTLE CURLY-HEAD
Under the tangled hair and the dirt there can be found by a loving hand, beauty and sweetness, and a soul.




I
II
a




A Tenement Daisy

73


eggs she wanted, with fresh air and green
grass and farm life, was pictured by the
visitor. "Apples, big trees, tiny chicks,"
muttered the girl in the dark corner, repeating some of the words she heard,-"Oh,
I'd love it!"
The difficulty of proper clothes and shoes
was to be met, and the visitor would come
in two days and take little Mary to the
train.
At the appointed hour the missionary
knocked again at the tenement door. No
rumble of sewing-machine this time, but
the mother, in a gruff voice called out:
"Who's there? Come in!" The man was
asleep in an inner room, —or it might better
be called a closet,-the little girl was again
huddled up in the same old chair, stifling
her sobs.
"I've made up my mind not to let her
go. It's all nonsense, anyway. I thought
you'd try to make me, for the child won't
stop her snivelling, so I just put them new




74      Helping the Helpless


things where 'twould put an end to it." In
a tub of dirty water were to be seen the
new gingham dress, and the new stockings
and shoes which the missionary had left for
the girl the day before.
An empty bottle and a breath laden with
gin explained the change of plan. But
after some moments of plain speaking, in
a most forcible manner, with the accompaniment of pitiful sobbing from the dark
corner, the mother's heart got the better of
her drunken brain and it was decided that
"next time" Mary might go.
Experience is a good teacher, and when
that next Fresh Air party was selected, the
missionary was up with the sun-rising, and
carrying the clothes with her, washed and
dressed little Mary herself. Dark glasses
over the still weak eyes were a real comfort, and little Mary was at the station, by
eight o'clock, as happy a child as any in
the party.
There was a loving welcome at the end




A Tenement Daisy


75


of the journey, in an ideal old farmhouse,
where
"The trees fold their green arms about it,
Great trees a century old,
And the winds go chanting through them,
While the sunbeams drop their gold."
Here the little girl found more than care
and good food. Her mind and soul expanded to the beauty surrounding her.
A lily, pure and beautiful, will grow in
darkest mud. The most fragrant blossoms
of early spring are found hidden under the
fallen leaves and mossy carpet of the
woods, and many a human flower when
taken from the wretched conditions of tenement life will grow and mature into beauty
and fragrance of life.. Before the time for Mary's return, the
farmer wrote:
"Dear Lady:
"Will you please try to get our little Mary's
people to allow her to stay longer. She is getting
stronger and her eyes are much improved. We
all love her. Even the dog and the chickens will
miss her. We must keep her."




76       Helping the Helpless
Meantime, things were happening in the
tenement house which Mary called home.
The baby brother suddenly sickened and
died. The father, who could not bear the
sunlight and had been obliged to take his
outings by night, was stricken with grief.
He was frank in saying, "My boy was
wuth while, but girls ain't no good. Let
the child stay. She ain't no use anyway."
The sunstroke, which the man said he had
had when working on a high building, kept
him at home during the daytime, but at
night he had been in the habit of going
out for the air and to pick up an odd job.
He evidently picked up something beside
the odd jobs, and this something he tucked
away in a high cupboard of the dark closet,
-bright things, bracelets, watches and
chains. No one ever saw these in the daytime.
One winter's night, the year before
Mary's trip to the country, when her father
was handling a glittering piece, Mary woke




A Tenement Daisy         7


77


up and asked him to let her see it. The
child never asked again, for the reply was
that if she ever told anybody or asked any
questions he would take the hatchet,which he grabbed and brandished over her,
~-and cut her head open and chop out her
tongue. His fiery eyes and ugly voice made
the threat one never to be forgotten by the
child.
After the death of the little boy, while
Mary was still at the farm, in an unwise
moment the father confided to his janitor
that he had found in an alley-way a good
watch, and gave it to him in return for
some special privileges. Not long 'after this
a prying policeman visited the tenement and
asked some pointed questions of Mary's
mother about the watch and the man's
business. The father, who was hiding not
only from the sunlight but from visitors
like the blue-coated policemen, took the first
chance to slip out the back way and disappear.




78       Helping the Helpless


Later a scrawly, unsigned postal was received by Mary's mother. Soon after she
turned over the key of her room to the
agent of the building, and went away,where, no one knew. The other tenants
were all too busy and too tired in their own
struggle to live to give more than a passing
thought to the disappearance of their
neighbors. The mission nurse in her work
found the rooms empty. It was just the
time for Mary's return. Was the child on
the train? What could be done to keep
Mary from returning to the desolate place.
A telegram to the farmer who had taken
the girl and asked to keep her, reached the
farm just as Mary was bidding the dear
people good-bye. It was a very happy girl
who unpacked her little bundle and stayed
on.
Nothing was really known of the child's
mother after that sudden departure. The
woman's cough and her drinking had been
growing from bad to worse, so it is prob





A Tenement Daisy


79


able that in some other city than New York
she has filled a pauper's grave.
Is it too great a stretch of the imagination to think that this man, who disliked
the sunshine and took his outings in the
darkness of the night, has been spending
his time in some old greystone building with
iron bars to shut out the light and to shut
him into the dark?
Mary gradually became a loving member
of the farm life, and fitted in as though it
had always been her home. At first she
talked little, but often chattered in a low
voice to the chickens and the flowers, which
were her companions. The little girl would
nestle down among the daisies, silently
watching the fleecy clouds sail by, or sit for.
hours weaving daisy chains for her neck
and hair.
"Where is my little girl?" called out the
farmer to the child almost hidden in the
grass, her head crowned with daisies.
"Won't our little Queen of the Daisies come




80      Helping the Helpless


now for some dinner?" And so smilingly
did she run to take his hand that her name
after that was "Daisy." Later, at school
and church and in the village, no one knew
her by any other name. The whole of her
own old name slipped out of mind. Miss
Daisy grew up as a daughter,-a capable,
lovely young woman.
To-day, in a position of trust and large
influence, as a well-educated Christian
woman, she has been able to return to her
foster-parents in their times of trouble real
comfort and help. In prosperity or adversity, and now in older years, it is Daisy
they love and lean upon.




VI


A COMPANION
RS. BROWN was convalescent.  The skill of
the surgeon had resulted
favorably.  There  had. been trained nurses and
physicians and now she was getting better,
but was still very nervous and not at all
strong.
"What I want," she said to her doctor
one day, "is not to see a nurse's uniformit reminds me too forcibly of ether, the
instruments, and the pain.  I believe I
could get well quicker if I had a bright,
pretty young woman to talk to me and read
to me and thus make me forget my illness."
A relative of Mrs. Brown had a friend
who knew of a girl who, she thought, might
fit this place. All she knew about her was


81




82      Helping the Helpless


that she was ladylike and refined, and had
been very good to her mother who had been
sick for some time before her death. The
young woman wanted a position, for her
father had quickly laid aside his mourning
and married a young girl who wanted the
whole house to herself.
Soon after this, the motherless girl was
installed in the comfortable home of Mrs.
Brown. She gave the tonic and the medicine, read aloud, arranged the flowers, and
sometimes sang little old-fashioned airs,
when the invalid was nervous. Indeed,
Laura was like a daughter instead of an
employee in the home.
After many months of this work, even
in the delightful surroundings of this elegant home, Laura grew restless and chafed
at the monotony of her life. "There is no
future no outlook in this kind of a position, and it is now that I must obtain
training for larger things," she thought.
Instead of confiding in Mrs. Brown, who






A Companion


83


was more than an employer, Laura carefully studied the advertisements in the
papers and answered one which she felt was
the very gateway to fortune. A New York
man 3ffered training and salary to goodlooking girls of cultured manners and some
knowledge of music.
Such a vision of a splendid future arose
before the girl that she answered this advertisement and was accepted before Mrs.
Brown had been told. "I wish you could
have trusted me, Laura," she said. "I feel
like a mother to you. When I am strong
again I will gladly help you to some training
in music. I appreciate your humdrum life
here in this small town, and being with
a complaining old lady. You have been
good to me. I hope you will not go, Laura
-and surely do not go alone to meet an
utter stranger."
But the girl felt that she had given her
word, and anyway, it was too fine an opportunity to miss, and the indefinite promise




84       Helping the Helpless


of Mrs. Brown reminded her of the old
saying, "A bird in the hand is worth two
in the bush."
The gentleman at the head of the Musical
Bureau had very kindly agreed to meet her
at the station, and the girl was instructed
to tie a handkerchief around her right arm,
so that she might be easily identified in the
crowd. So Laura went on to New York
from Ohio, and her correspondent met her
as he promised. He was a fine-looking,
well-groomed, well-dressed, person and
talked pleasantly with her as they met. He
called a cab for her, suggested that she
hand him her check, and said he would
gladly relieve her of all trouble regarding
her baggage.
As they rode along he told her that he
would have her voice tried in a day or two,
but in the meantime she must rest from her
long journey, and he would take her to a
good boarding house, where she would be
very comfortable. On arrival at the place




A Companion          8


85


designated, they found that the lady of the
house was out, but he showed Laura to a
room which she could occupy until the landlady's return. As he had important business
which would keep him until evening, he
would go and she could make herself known
to the family, and later he would explain
the kind of position, the training needed
for it, and the salary she might expect.
As the gentleman was about to leave,
however, he suggested that it might be wise
for her to allow him to put any money she
had with her into the safe. Servants could
not be trusted always, especially in New
York, as she had doubtless heard, and there
were many pickpockets and sneak thieves in
the great city. Laura thanked him as he
took her roll of bills to put in a secure place,
and bowed himself most politely out of the
room.
In the elegant room with its long mirror,
lace curtains and fine furniture, Laura sat
down in an easy chair to rest. Feeling




86       Helping the Helpless
very much alone, and as she afterward said,
with a strange fear clutching at her heart,
she opened her traveling bag, took from it
her tiny pocket testament, and turned for
comfort to some of the sweet old verses
about God's care for those who trust in
Him.
A cleaning woman was scrubbing the
marble floor in the hall, and because of her
great loneliness and longing for human
companionship, Laura opened the door a
little and left it so. The woman on her
knees with her cloth and her pail of suds
stopped now and then to look in at the girl
as she sat there reading the little book.
Finally, the woman with hesitation beckoned the girl to come nearer the door, and
said to her in a whisper:
"Do you know what kind of a house
you're in? I'm a decent woman-I have
to earn my livin'-I comes here to clean
twice every week. They thinks I don't
know, but this is one of the devil's own




A Companion


87


houses. I'm sure you won't tell on mebut if you're what I thinks you are you'll
git out while you can git out. The missus
has gone to the the-a-tre, the door is well
locked, but I'll open it prentendin' I'm
cleanin' the marble beside it, and you can
git out. You'd better be lively for some
of 'em '11 be back before long."
Laura had just fifty cents in money in
her pocket and it was nearly night. Was
it true, she thought, if she waited to get
her money from the safe that she could not
get away that night? What did the man
mean? There were sounds at that moment
on the floor above which made Laura decide quickly, and taking her bag she was
soon on the street, walking, but she knew
not whither-down-down-wondering
fearing-praying-until nightfall.
On a corner she saw a policeman whose
face looked honest and kind, and she asked
him to direct her to a lodging-house for
women, a cheap but respectable place. He




88      Helping the Helpless


not only gave her the address, but pointed
the way so clearly she could not miss it.
The next morning, when she went to
pay for her night's lodging, she told part
of her story to the matron. This woman
was in touch with our work in lower New
York and it was not long before the girl
was safely in our hands.
Upon my desk that morning lay a letter
received the day before from a lady who
was not a stranger, whose beautiful home
with its many surrounding acres of ground
overlooked the Hudson. This lady had
written telling her needs:
"You know my Jamie; the attendant who has
been with my crippled lad has had to go away.
I do not suppose you can help me find just the
right one-it is hardly in your line-but I do want
to find a bright, sweet young lady-one we can
take right into our home and make one of us,
who will read to Jamie and amuse him. But I
wish-and I do feel this is too much to expect-I
wish I could find someone with enough of the gift
of music to sing to him when those distressing
spells of his come on. The dear little boy does
suffer so at times, as you know."






- A Companion


89


This letter had not been answered. Laura
was sent there, and proved to more than
meet their needs. Later they wrote thanking us for sending them "such a bonnie
song-bird," and adding that Jamie was already devoted to her.
It might have been a year after that, as
I sat one morning in my little inner room,
that someone slipped up behind my chair
and then a pair of arms were placed close
about my neck, a face touched my cheek,
and a sweet girlish voice said, "Oh, I must
thank you this way for saving me!"
Not long after this it was reported that
someone else beside little Jamie was devoted
to the "bonnie song-bird" and that it was
Jamie's big, good Uncle James.




VII


A LITTLE PROPERTY
N  the basement of a tall
F       1     house, on the lower east
side of New York, lived
acobbler who hammered
away at old shoes which
were brought to him to mend by people
who were too poor to buy new ones. He
was obliged to work very close to the window, and even there the light was dim, as
the room was below the sidewalk. At the
rear, where the window was only three feet
from the next high building, his wife,
Sophie, did their scanty cooking, and kept
the little home, as tidy as she could by the
dim light of an old, smoky, oil lamp.
It was a damp, dreary place, full of the
odor of old leather, this home into which
little baby Sophie came. Not long after


90




A Little Property


91


the birth of the child, though the nurse of
the City Mission gave her the best of care,
the mother slipped away from the dismal
basement and left Peter, the cobbler, and
their baby girl most forlorn.
On the third floor of this high building
lived a German woman, who was considered the grand lady of the house. She had
two windows toward the street, where the
sun shone in a part of the day through the
old lace curtains. When the children of
all the homes above this grand lady, away
up to the roof, came trooping down the
stairs, they were always eager to stop, and
get a peek through the crack of the door,
to catch a glimpse of old Mrs. Schmidt's
elegance. There was a stuffed sofa which
had once been red and purple and green and
yellow, but they never noticed that one leg
was gone and that it was propped up with
a board. There were two chairs covered
with the same flowered stuff, except for
the patches, one of which, if you called




92       Helping the Helpless
upon Mrs. Schmidt she would carefully
keep you from sitting on, for one leg was
past repair. There was a gay lambrequin,
with fringe, a big vase on the mantelpiece,
a picture of Bismarck in a gilt frame, and
other things which had once been whole,
but were now so broken and chipped as to
have lost all suggestion of any former use
or beauty.
Mrs. Schmidt didn't have to work very
much, for at frequent intervals there came
to her registered letters from Germany.
The other tenants of the house,-the O'Raffertys, the Timonses, and those of different
nationalities, - stood in awe of Mrs.
Schmidt, for she had little to say and held
her head rather high. And so, when she
went down the stairs, dressed in her good
black dress and long gold chain, with a
white feather in her hat, they felt that this
grand lady gave tone to the whole building.
When little Sophie was born, Mrs.
Schmidt's big heart, in her capacious body,




LITTLE BURDEN BEARERS
At different centers on Friday, afternoons, we hold what is called
"Children's Hour," with stories and songs. Here, all the
little ones are welcomed.








A Little Property


93


grew very warm and it led her to look in
on the Polish family in the basement. After
the little mother's body was carried away
she went down into the midst of the bits
of leather, and said kindly to the stricken
husband and father: "I 'ave a goot place
up de stairs, an' no childer. If you like ter
lent me de baby avhile I vill take care uv
'er fer you, den you can turn yerself already."
A dozen other families in the house
would have done the same, for the poor
are ever ready to help the poor, but Mrs.
Schmidt had the sunshine, and did not have
to go out to work and leave her door
locked, letting the child stay alone. The
missionary nurse was ready to visit and
care for the baby just the same as though
it had staid with its father, so little Sophie
became a part of Mrs. Schmidt's elegant
home, and took possession of Mrs. Schmidt's
big heart.
A few years passed by, and Sophie was




94       Helping the Helpless
old enough to join the primary Sunday
School class, which the missionary nurse
conducted most interestingly every Sunday
morning. Mrs. Schmidt had no use for religion,-she had gotten above the Bible and
its superstitions. Invitations to attend the
German service were always refused, and
she was quite unwilling that Sophie should
have anything to do with a church. But the
little girl's eagerness to go, and her love
for the nurse, at last overcame the old
woman's reluctance, and a compromise was
made. If Mrs. Schmidt could go with
Sophie and sit on one side, and understand
what was going on there, she would let
Sophie go to Sunday School. After that,
the two were to be seen in the primary
class Sunday after Sunday. Later on, the
child coaxed her foster-mother into the
preaching service, and the gospel seed
found good ground, took root, grew and
blossomed, and Mrs. Schmidt became an
earnest member of the German Church.




A Little Property


95


When Sophie was about six years old,
Mrs. Schmidt was taken ill. The attacks
of pain, from which she had suffered, increased and the old woman began to realize
that the time would come, and perhaps suddenly, when the little girl she loved would
be left without her care.
"I vant mine leetle girl to 'ave mine leetle
property," she said, "an' we must not let
her to de basement go. She is mine own
leetle one." A young German lawyer was
found, who made her will at a reasonable
price. Not many weeks after, sudden death
came, as she had feared, and the same lawyer helped us settle up the estate, which
amounted, when all debts were paid, to
about one hundred dollars.
In the meantime, old Peter, the cobbler,feeling that his child was well cared for,had drifted away to another city, and to
some other employment. The one hundred
dollars was put into a savings bank in the




96      Helping the Helpless


name of Sophie, but we were made trustees
or guardians.
The summer before Mrs. Schmidt died,
as she was not then well, we gained her
consent for Sophie to go with a Fresh Air
party to a farmer's home in the western
part of the State. Upon her return to the
city, after a stay of only a few weeks, the
girl had such red cheeks and bright eyes,
and told such glowing stories of the beautiful woods, and the farmer's home, the old
woman was fairly jealous and declared that
the next time Sophie was asked she would
go, too.
"I want this same little girl next summer," wrote the farmer. "There's a standing invitation for Sophie to come and stay
as long as her folks will let her —"
This welcome came to mind very forcibly,
as we closed the tenement rooms, sold the
old furniture, and asked ourselves the question, what should be done with Sophie?
For a few weeks we took the lonely girl




___


A Little Property


97


into our own home. But what was the
best plan for a long future? A half-orphan
asylum would give good care and training,
but better than any institution would be a
Christian home where, as a foster-child, she
could have personal love.
Letters were sent and answered, and the
farmer and his wife made ready a pretty
room, with toys and books, and then welcomed the coming of this little girl as their
own.
A year later, I was staying for a time at
a hotel within driving distance of the farm,
and decided to pay them a visit. Letters
had been exchanged between the fosterfather and ourselves as to Sophie's future,
and he knew all that we did of her family,
and the "little property" in the savings
bank.
As our carriage drove up, along the lane
leading to the farmhouse, the farmer was
returning from the fields with a load of
hay. Through the vines, at the side of the




98      Helping the Helpers


porch, we could see a group of little girls
dressed in white playing and laughing and
setting out a table for refreshments. In the
centre was Sophie, in a pretty white dress,
her hair adorned with blue ribbons.
"Mother said I might play this is my
birthday," she said, after greeting us, "and
these girls are in the same Sunday School
class with me, so you see this is my birthday party, and I'm so glad you got here!
But you haven't come-you haven't come
to take me away?"
The farmer left his load, and with a
hearty smile and hand-grasp made us welcome. After a little waiting, he said: "It
wouldn't be strange, not knowing me, if you
should think I wanted to keep the girl, because of that hundred dollars rollin' up
interest. You see her name ain't Sophie
Polinsky any more, she is Ruth Rollins,
and I'm business man enough to know that
if anything happened she'll never get a cent
of it,-leastways without a lot of trouble.




A Little Property


99


We want to keep her, and send her to
school, and bring her up, and we've given
her our name; and now just to prove that
I mean business, and to save that money
for her, when maybe she'll need it by-andby, if you choose to trust me to put it in
the savings bank here in this nearby town,
where the girl can get it by-and-by, when
she needs it, I'll put in just the same amount
of money for her myself." Suiting the
action to the word, he pulled from the
depths of his trousers' pocket,-under the
overalls he wore,-a hundred dollars, and
laid it down with a slap. "There it is, and
I'll add on the interest to a penny when I
know exactly what it is."
In that home, Sophie,-now daughter
Ruth,-has been loved and trained and prepared for life. As a young lady in the
social circle of the village she makes no
stir. She is not beautiful of face or figure.
She cannot boast of great learning, but
Ruth can bake bread, and cake good enough




100       Helping the Helpless
for a county fair. She can mend, and
make, and best of all she has the art of
being happy, and making everyone happy
in the home where she lives.
The children all love her and old people
enjoy visiting with her.    She makes a
good teacher of the primary class in the
Sunday School. She has no special talent,
yet every one agrees she is a comfortable
girl to live with.
"A commonplace life we say, and we sigh;
But why do we sigh as we say?
For a commonplace sun in a commonplace sky,
Makes up a commonplace day."




VIII


FRAULEIN
E         HE love part of a story is
usually at the end. After
many difficulties and much
misunderstanding the hero
tells his lady fair what
she knew all the time perfectly well, the
wedding follows and the curtain falls.
Not so with this simple, but true little
tale. It must begin with the fact that Fritz
loved the blue-eyed Christina, and had not
only told her so, but had also stated that
fact to his own family, to Christina's old
grandfather and to his frau-Christina's
step-grandmother.
"This marriage, Fritz," said his mother,
"will be impossible. I am sorry, but we
have other plans for you. Christina is a
sweet girl and will make some fine young
101




102


Helping the Helpless


man a good haus-frau, but not our Fritzour only son. The girl we have selected
for you is of good family, beautiful, and
with a fat dowry. From what we are told
she will not only keep your house wellshe can knit and sew and cook-but she
can also sing and play. We have it all
arranged with her parents, who quite agree
with us that it will be a proper marriage.
She is an only daughter and you are our
only son. There will be much money coming to you from both families. You will
be a rich man by and by."
German authority is not often questioned,
and Fritz was a loyal and obedient son.
"Mother," he said, "I shall not marry
Christina while you are unwilling to receive
her. She and I can wait. I shall not leave
her and she loves me. Liebe mutter, no
other girl in all the world do I want-only
my own little sweetheart. I cannot marry
anyone else. The girl with the fat dowry
will not want a man whose heart is else



-


Fraulein


103


where. I shall stay with you, but I shall
never marry anyone but my own little
Christina."
In a cottage home beyond the town,
several miles from the large mansion where
dwelt the parents of Fritz, Christina lived
with her old grandfather. They had been
told frankly about the decision which had
been made by the parents of her lover. The
girl and the old grandfather were much to
each other, and she opened her heart to
him.
"I cannot stay here. I must go away.
I cannot see my Fritz married to another
girl. They will surely force him into it.
He is so good and loves his father and
mother so much, he will have to please
them. You know, grandfather, how we
Germans are-how we feel when an only
son does not have a house and home and
family. Oh, I cannot stay. Will you let
me go with the Sister who is going back
to her work in America? She says she




104


Helping the Helplevs


will train meshe has a school for girls
who want to do good, and will take good
care of me. I don't want to leave you, my
dear good grandfather, but-oh, I cannot
stay!" And with sobs choking her voice
she threw her arms around the old man's
neck-"I cannot stay and see Fritz married
to that girl. By and by, after I am trained,
I will come back and take care of you, and
help poor sick people. I won't mind then."
A few days after this the Sister from
America, dressed in a peculiar garb, called
at Christina's home and added her persuasion to the entreaties of the girl. Promises
were given for a careful training in attractive work, and at last the grandfather
yielded and with trembling hands gave over
to the German woman from America the
sum of money she required for the passage,
training and care of the girl.
After much preparation the last day came
and it seemed as though the old man's heart
would break to part from Christina. "God




Fraulein


105


is my trust in this awful darkness," he
said. "He will never leave nor forsake my
little one. He rules the wind and the waves
and He will keep you safe on this great
voyage. His promises will hold like an
anchor even in far off America."
Then came the last good-bye, and the
saintly old man with wet cheeks, with one
arm clinging around the girl and the other
raised to Heaven, with solemn voice prayed,
"May the Lord watch over you. May the
Lord guard and guide you, my precious
one. May the good God bring you back
to my heart and home before I go hence."
The steamboat express for Hamburg
must always keep schedule time. It could
stop only for a moment at the junction for
a delayed train and then must rush on. So
a long thin trail of smoke was all that could
be seen of this express as a GermanAmerican lady hurried from the train on
the branch road. "How annoying," she
said. "I've lost that train, and so I have






106


Helping the Helpless


lost my steamer-oh, why-why?"     At
Hamburg other plans had to be made, and
in a few days this traveler had joined the
motley throng on the deck of another ship
bound for New York.
Peculiar people, and customs which would
look strange on the city street, excite little
notice in the crowd of passengers on board
an ocean liner. But the German-American
lady's attention was directed, almost before
the ship left the pier, to two women dressed
in a peculiar garb. The contrast between
these two women held the lady's attentionone of them was young, pretty, and timid
appearing; the other was middle aged,
plain, and with a decidedly aggressive manner. The dress was black, made with a
full skirt and sleeves; the waist was pleated.
The bonnet was made of white linen and
tied underneath the chin with strings of
white linen, while attached to the plain
front-piece which surrounded the face was
a full crown, hanging loosely and forming




Fraulein


107


a sort of broad collar which extended well
out on the shoulders.
In their promenade up and down the deck
the younger woman began to tire, and the
older one tucked her into a steamer chair,
bidding her rest, but to be sure to have
nothing whatever to say to anyone. Was
it "chance" that placed the German-American lady's steamer chair next to the one
occupied by Christina, or was it in answer
to prayer?
Back and forth paced the older woman
until. a group playing cards attracted her,
first into watching and then into joining
in the game. After a bit drinks were
ordered, she was urged to share, and seemed
nothing loath to join in this also.
Little Fraulein was very obedient and sat
quietly in her chair, but the sad, lonelylooking girl presented a very pathetic picture. So thought the occupant of the chair
next to her and she realized that the mist
and spray sent up by old Ocean could not




108


Helping the Helpless


be responsible for all the moisture that filled
the blue eyes and trickled down the white
cheek.
Unable to use or even understand a word
of English, Fraulein could all the better
obey the command, "Make no words with
anyone!" The German-American lady ventured to express a bit of sympathy in the
tongue of the Fatherland, but all her efforts
were quietly repulsed. After a while, however, the girl's heart warmed under the
kindly words and more kindly tone, and
when the older woman was out of sight,
little by little Fraulein told a part of her
story, and as the days went by the two
travelers side by side became very good
friends.
"The Sister is really very good," said the
girl, "and is kind to the sick and the poor.
There are so many poor Germans in New
York City that she has a house for them
and a little hospital and a training school,
too. She has been to Germany before and




Fraulein


109


told about her work and people have given
her money; and grandfather paid her to
give me the training. I did not want to
stay at home now-there is a good reason.
I will go back, by and by, when my Fritz
is married and settled down. You see, the
Sister came to our house and she knew I
was unhappy, she offered to take me, to
train me in her school. My parents are
dead. Dear old grandfather did not want
me to come-if he had not been willing
I would not have come. He cried and said
it would kill him if his little girl went away
to far off America-by and by I will go
back-after I get the training."
"Where is this school, or house, where
you are going with the Sister?" asked the
lady.
"It is on an avenue-I do not know
just where-of course, New York City is
a very big place-the Sister did not tell me
just where."
In God's great plan this German-Ameri





110


Helping the Helpless


can lady was a trained nurse in the City
Mission service, working among the sick
and the poor of the crowded East Side in
New York City. Her large experience made
her feel troubled about this simple-hearted
girl. Was she being deceived?
Fraulein, however, was confident that
everything was all right and that the Sister
was really very good. Had not her friends
trusted her and had not her dear old grandfather trusted her? She surely must be all
right.
But this did not satisfy her new found
friend. So she wrote out full directions
in both English and German, making it very
clear how this girl could find her, if at any
time she might need a friend in the great
city. After a little urging Fraulein took
the slip of paper and promised to say
nothing about it to the Sister.
In the confusion of landing and with
customs examination the German-American
lady found it impossible to follow the strange




Fraulein


111


pair to learn where the Sister lived; then
came the needs of the work crowding in
upon her, until the meeting with the sad
little German girl became merely an incident
of the voyage and passed from her mind for
the moment.
It was not so very long after this, however, that a little German note, enclosed in
the very envelope she herself had directed,
found its way into the hands of the German-American lady, and it told her that
Fraulein did need a friend, and needed one
right away, and gave instructions where she
could be found.
Very promptly the lady responded by
hunting up the place. She found the house
most forbidding, with its closely locked
doors and drawn shades, while there was
not a sound within. The door was tried
again and again but in vain, so she stood
waiting for a moment, then in the distance
she saw the Sister coming, followed by
Fraulein, each carrying a basket of food.




112


Helping the Helpless


In a loud angry voice the Sister asked
the caller what she wanted and then ordered
her away and told her to mind her own
business. Fraulein was commanded not to
speak to her. The door was opened, and
shut quickly with a bang in the vistor's face,
and locked from the inside.
A sobbing appeal was heard to please let
her talk to the good kind lady just one
moment. This was followed by the slamming of another door on the inside-and
then silence reigned.
The next day the German-American lady,
who was not so easily frightened, called at
the house again. The Sister had gone out
evidently thinking the reception of the day
before would have the desired results.
Tremblingly little Fraulein unlocked the
great door and let her in; and clinging to
her the girl told her story.
There was no training-there was no
hospital-she was kept scrubbing and washing, and then she had to go out with the Sis



wFraulein            113
ter begging for food. When she was not out
with the Sister she was locked in. She had
been told she must not write to her grandfather at present-that the letter written by
the Sister was quite sufficient.
At night all sorts of men and boys called
and she had to make special soup for them,
greasy and thick. Some of the men stayed
all night and talked to her-English was
hard to understand-but it sounded bad,
and they looked at her in a way she did not
like-she was afraid and hungry and homesick. The Sister was very cross and said
she had not been paid enough money, that
she must learn to eat the soup, or earn
money in some way, and that she must stop
crying. "Oh," Fraulein added, "if only I
could get away-can you not take me? I
shall die here-I feel afraid all the time.
Oh, if only my grandfather knew!"
This visit was cut short by the return of
the Sister, who was very angry at this
second intrusion of the strange woman.




114


1 Helping the Helpless


The next visit was made with an officer
in citizen's clothes. The Sister was told
that the girl was of age and able to decide
for herself, that she had come to America
for training which had been paid for and
which she was not receiving, that the German-American lady was ready to assist the
girl to secure what she desired, and that she
had come to take Fraulein away at her
own request.
This brought forth a perfect tornado of
vile, indecent words and curses, which was
quieted only when the officer's badge was
disclosed and the woman warned that such
language would lead to her arrest.
Then she launched forth upon a perfect
sea of abuse, charging Fraulein with ingratitude and wickedness; telling her she
was no good whatever to her; that if she
went away with that strange woman she
would surely be taken into a bad life; that
the home people should be told by the next
mail how their little Fraulein had gone to the




Fraulein


115


devil; that when the old grandfather knew
it it would kill him; and that he was going
to know the worst, and, too, that not one
penny of the money would be given back;
that the girl should not receive one cent,
and that her trunk must stay right there.
It had been arranged to have an expressman ready outside, and at last, with another
flash of the officer's glittering badge and
a view of the determined look on his face,
the trunk was brought forth.  But the
Sister could not let it go without venting
her anger still further, by giving the trunk
such a vicious kick with her heavy shoes
that the lock was broken, declaring there
must be something in that trunk that belonged to her, for the girl was surely a
thief, and would be sent to jail. "And
then," she added, "your friends in Germany
will realize how bad you are!"
The officer helped the trembling girl out
of the house, and as she went down the
steps she turned to say "Good-bye," whereat




116      Helping the Helpless
the Sister, in a more violent attack of rage,
hurled the broom after her, calling out,
"Thief! Thief!!" and quickly picking up
a stick that lay by, she placed it across the
broom thus making the sign of the cross,
and standing beside it, she spat after the
departing trio.
Suitable clothing, a warm welcome and
loving care were given to the little Fraulein,
who gratefully responded to every kindness.
To the City Mission leader and to others
who learned to love her, she was like a
sweet friend. But to the City Mission
nurse the girl clung most lovingly, fearing
to allow her out of her sight. "My dear
little  rescue  mother-my  little  rescue
mother," she would say.
A letter giving information about the Society and its Christian work was sent to
the home people in Germany, but not before
the Sister had sent her story about the
"ungrateful and wicked girl" having gone
into a life of sin, and how she feared they
would never see their pretty Fraulein again.




Fraulein


117


Soon after the rescue of Fraulein, and
while she was under my care, it so happened that the son of the superintendent,
with a patient, two Christian gentlemen,
were to sail for Germany to spend several
months. They talked with Fraulein, learned
about her people, and took letters from her
to them. On their arrival in the German
city, they settled down near her home for
a short time to strengthen their knowledge
of the German language, and made a few
friends of the same Christian character as
themselves.
It was Sunday afternoon, when they went
to find the home of Fraulein in the suburbs
of the city. Word had been sent to the
grandfather, and in the parlor he was leading a religious meeting and prayer service
for his little girl so far away. Her letter
and the letter from the strange American
gentleman were so different from those
sent by the Sister that it was impossible
for the friends to understand what it all
meant. "Can our Fraulein be a thief?"




118


Helping the Helpless


one had asked the other. "Has she truly
gone wrong? Why did she leave the training school-why? What is this Mission
Society? Who was the strange lady on the
steamer?" "Wait," said the grandfather,
"wait-wait and pray and trust, and let us
believe our little girl's story until we know
more."
At the close of the service the American
gentlemen made themselves known, and
presented letters, pictures and other proofs
of their statements. The aged grandfather
listened intently to every word, standing
all the while as though in prayer, his face
as white as the silver hair which crowned
it. At the close he turned quickly and
threw his arms about the neck of the
younger man and kissed him on both cheeks.
Little Fraulein was vindicated! And the
rejoicing in that household can only be
likened to the joy of Heaven.
While Christina was in America the rich
girl, selected for Fritz, took her affairs into
her own hands and decided she would not




Fraulein


119


wait for a lover who had told her he loved
another girl, and so she carried her dowry
into a family glad to receive her; and a
grand wedding followed.
The parents of Fritz began to be anxious;
they did not enjoy having a bachelor son.
Where was the Fraulein? Would she soon
return? What were these reports about her?
Who were these two American gentlemen
staying in the city? After hearing the reports of these two gentlemen, their hearts
went out to the poor, brave little girl, and
the mother said: "Perhaps, after all, Fritz
should marry Christina and not wait any
longer for us to find some other girl for
him!"
So kindly letters were sent and little Fraulein, who was always busy in New York
helping in many ways in the work which
her "Rescue Mother" was doing among the
poor, began to sing as she worked, and the
sad look in her face turned into quiet
smiles.
Although the Sister had given that trunk






120


Helping the Helpless


a hard blow, the lock could be mended, and
when Christina's busy fingers had finished
the pretty garments she made for herself,
she filled it, and was ready to sail away to
the homeland.
This time she did not travel in the queer
garb of a make-believe Sister, but in a very
becoming dark blue traveling suit and hat.
And it was not a sad, pale-faced Fraulein,
but a Fraulein with pink cheeks and bright
eyes that waved "Good-bye" from the deck
of the steamer to her American friends on
the shore.
And when that same steamer docked on
the other side of the great ocean, the first
one to meet and greet the home-comer was
Fritz, loving and loyal Fritz,-and he had
with him his parents' blessing.
There was great rejoicing when they
reached the home of Fraulein's old grandfather. He had been prostrated with grief
and anxiety, but grew strong with the joy
of seeing his loved one again. And at the




Fraulein


121


wedding which soon followed, he laid his
hands on their bowed heads and blessed
them, while a glory shone in his face-the
glory into which he soon after entered forever.
The German-American lady made another
visit to her Fatherland, and one summer
day, without writing, she took the journey
and rang the door bell at Mr. and Mrs.
Fritz's home.
"Who is it-a stranger?" questioned Mrs.
Fritz, coming forward with her baby boy
in her arms; but when she caught sight of
her visitor, she gave a little scream of delight, and cried, "Meine Erlbsende Mutter!
My Rescue Mother!"
Some years later I visited Germany and
this nurse was with me. Together we
found the new and comfortable home of
Mr. and Mrs. Fritz. Business was neglected
that day, and two sturdy boys helped to
welcome "mother's friends" from far-off
America.




IX


BONNIE MARY
OM McKEEVER felt sure
that bad luck was his portion. At any rate he had
had nothing but bad luck
ever since he crossed the
ocean with his pretty English wife and began life in New York.
First he had been taken sick; then the
blue-eyed Mary came, and a year afterward
the baby's mother died, leaving her to the
father's care.
His bad luck continued, and the worst
luck of all-so he said-was when he decided to marry the widow with six children
for the sake of a home and care for the
dear little bonnie Mary. His idea had been
that his earnings would be well spent by
the widow and that she would love his little


122






Bonnie Mary


123


girl for her own sake, and it would be
easier for him to care for her in that way,
than alone in a room in a tenement house.
But rheumatism, which had been part of
Tom McKeever's bad luck, struck his heart
one day, and Bonnie Mary was left an
orphan in the great city.
The step-mother had a hard struggle to
pay the rent of the three small rooms, and
as for food and clothes, there was not
enough to go around for her own six.
After these were but half fed, and lacked
shoes, and were provided with only muchpatched clothing, there was really nothing
left for little Mary.
One of our workers among the poor and
needy found little Mary ragged and hungry,
uncared for and unloved. In spite of rags
and dirt she was a beautiful child, with
large blue eyes, dimpled cheek, and her fair
hair in little ringlets all over her head. She
was most affectionate, too, responding to
every kindness.




124


1924    Helping the Helpless


The widow was most happy to pass the
child over to anyone who could care f or
her. A plan was carried out f or boarding
her on a farm in the country, for a small
sum, until we should know what to do with
her permanently.  The out-of-door life,
with good milk and plenty of it, made little
Mary grow still more beautiful.
One day a lady, dressed in the height
of fashion, drove up to the Charities
Building and found her way into my inner
sanctum. She had heard that sometimes in
our work we found pretty little children,
who were alone and might prove very
promising, if they had good care. She
wanted to adopt a pretty, fair-haired child
and bring her up as her own daughter. She
t-old of her town house and her mansion at
a leading watering place, of how she and
her husband had talked it over and decided
that their home would be happier and
brighter with a little daughter growing up
into womanhood in it.




Bonnie Mary


125


Little Mary was sent for and seemed to
satisfy every desire of the lady's heart.
Gingham dresses and aprons and heavy
shoes were left behind, and the finest muslins, the daintiest embroidery and beautiful
ribbons were provided by the new foster
mother.
Thus attired the child was indeed in
keeping with her elegant home. Clinging
to the hand of her new mother, little Mary
was helped into the carriage by the footman
as though she had always lived in luxury.
Several months later the same carriage
drew up before our building, the same elegant lady with her husband following came
again into my inner sanctum, the child with
them, tenderly clinging to the man she
called "dear papa." While the lady talked
with me the little girl sat in the man's lap
stroking his cheek and loving him with all
her childish heart.
"I have come," said the elegant madam,
with cold dignity, "to return this child. She




- -


126


Helping the Helpless


is a very dear little thing and seems to love
us, and we love her-indeed my husband
has become altogether too fond of her to
be wise-but I cannot keep her. You should
have shown me the scar on her neck. I
shall want any daughter of mine to have
a brilliant social life, of course, and this
scar would be noticed when she wore evening gowns. I tried to see whether pearls
would hide it, but they do not, so I have
decided on the whole I had best return her."
And without further ado she swept from
the room and the foster father with tears
in his eyes gave Bonnie Mary a loving hug
and kiss and disappeared in the wake of his
elegant wife.
Back to the farm little Mary was sent.
The fine muslin and dainty embroidery
were exchanged for the gingham and the
heavy shoes.
God's ways are not man's ways. The
Scotch father and English mother had been
praying people, and though they had gone,




Bonnie Mary


127


their little one was not forgotten by Him
who cares for even the sparrows. There
was waiting for the coming of little Mary
a Christian home with a welcome that
endures.
Hundreds of miles from New York, in
a quiet town, lived a family of cultured,
Christian people, not over-wealthy, but with
means enough for refinement and comfortbut there was no child. The wife had tried
in vain to find the kind of little girl they
wanted to adopt. At last a distant relative
of limited income decided to give up to her
one of her own little ones. Every arrangement was made to welcome the child-a
room with dainty bed and playthings were
ready, but when the would-be foster mother
went to get the child to take her to her
heart and home, the relative found she
could not keep her promise, and was absolutely unwilling to part with her child.
Back home the childless woman went, so




128


Helping the Helpless


disappointed that she resolved never to try
again.
By chance (but is there any chance with
God's children) she wrote to a friend in
New York that she had just decided that
a childless home was her portion, and never
again would she think of finding a little
girl whom she could love. That letter
reached the friend at just the right time.
Promptly a reply was sent. "Don't be discouraged if the child you wanted was denied
you. Will you not consider the adoption
of a little Scotch-English girl whom we will
send right out to you?" The answer was
"Send her."
To-day in that home, in that college
town, there is a young lady daughterbeautiful, refined, well-educated-a perfect
treasure to every one in the home; and yet if
she should wear a low-necked evening gown,
someone would notice a fine line of a scar,
over an inch long, on her neck. Her name
is Bonnie Mary.




x


"KETCHED UP"
i       9         T seems, somehow, I never
get ketched up.  Rent
day comes awful quick,
John has had slack times
with his work, the children has been sick, and so everything just
gets ahead of me.
"You see, when I was married, I had a
little saved up for a rainy day, even after
I had bought some pretty good things,blankets and sheets and towels and all that.
We begun to live pretty nice, and I made
up my mind that no matter what come, I
was going to keep a little tidy home, and
have a shiny place, but I can't. I gets so
tired and discouraged,-seems no use to try
some times. If only I could once get


129




on _


130


Helping the Helpless


ketched up, maybe I'd have some courage
to go on."
As the missionary listened, she saw a
tub half full of soiled clothes which had
been put to soak; the cupboard was in disorder; the table was covered with the crumbs
and dishes of the breakfast. Little Elsie,
wrapped in a ragged quilt, was asleep in
the middle of the miserable bed.
It certainly looked hopeless, even to the
missionary, who was accustomed to seeing
poverty and disorder.
Here was an American woman, who
knew what a tidy home meant, and, while
the man's wages were small, they were not
reduced by drink. What could be done?
Talking it over together that evening, we
resolved to make an effort to give the little
woman a chance to get "ketched up for
once."
Soon after this there was to be an all-day
excursion for the Sunday School, and




"Retched Up"


131


tickets were promised to the mother and
children, who were urged to go.
"Thank you," said the man, "no ticket
for me. I'll take this chance to go out and
see a man in the country who owes me
some money. Let the children go, and I'll
meet 'em when the bdat lands, and help
'em get home."
By a little strategy the hiding place of
the door key was made known, and when
the mother and children and the father had
all gone for the day, we took possession of
the tenement home. A boarding-school girl,
with a generous heart, had sent us from
her allowance a gift of money to be used
for something or somebody special, and
this was now our "special." A poor widow
on the next street, who we knew was fighting hard to be ready for rent day, was sent
for; around the corner was a young man
out of work, who was glad of a job.
What a day that was, of battle with dirt
and disorder! And it ended only when the




132


1 Helping the Helpless


shadows told us that the family would soon
return. The clothes had been washed and
hung out to dry; the floor had been
scrubbed; the stove was shining like new;
the shelves of the cupboard were clean,
covered with papers, and bright with a row
of canned groceries. A new blanket and
sheets and pillow-cases made the bed a
very different place. At the windows were
hung cheap scrim curtains, and the table
was covered with white oilcloth and decorated with a small growing plant.
A neighbor, as we worked, peeked in to
see what was going on, and ran to the
grocer's wife at the corner to tell her, so
both came to gaze and admire. They were
shortly followed by the wife of the butcher,
who went away talking to herself,-a housecleaning song without music.
The brightened tea-kettle was singing
cheerily as the father helped the tired wife
and stumbling children up the stairs. Just






"Ketched Up"


133


outside, at a turn of the dark hall, we were
hiding.
As the key was turned in the lock, and
the door pushed open, the man started back,
exclaiming, "Oh, my God! we have been
turned out! Somebody has moved in while
we were gone!" But little Elsie said, "No,
father, it is our place; see, there's grandfather's picture!"
Upon the table, near the plate of cold meat
and the bread, we had left an open Bible,
kept open by a knife and fork laid across
the page, at these words, "Bless the Lord,
Oh my soul, and forget not all his benefits."
Thus we gave Mrs. A. a chance to get
"ketched up."
Did it pay? Yes!




XI


AGED PILGRIMS
HILDREN, big and little,
chattering in a dozen different tongues, swarm up
and down tenement stairs,
overflowing onto the sidewalk and into the gutters; but tucked away
in the dark basement, and up under the
roof in the attic, are the old people. They
must live where rents are cheapest. The
time is past when they can earn enough for
shelter and reasonable food, and to-morrow
holds out no promise for better things.
They are in the land where it is always
afternoon, and they cling to the tiny room,
which, though poor and shabby, is home,
waiting for the call to that home where
they shall hunger no more.
134




Aged Pilgrims


135


In that memorable winter of the panic,
when so many of the wheels of industry
had stopped turning, charity had to devise
work for starving people of all ages and
kinds.
In our searchings that winter we found
an old lady who had known better days,
up under the very eaves of the building, her
only window a small skylight. Work had
stopped and hunger had resulted in weakness, until she was not able to go up and
down the long stairs. There, in her little
home, she was found and fed, and later
placed in a home for aged women.
For many years an old German couple
had lived in a basement on B    Street.
The dilapidated blinds on the windows had
to be kept closed, for the sidewalk was
higher than the room, and mischievous boys
had found their fun in making the cracks
of the window glass a little larger by pushing apple and banana peelings through the
openings. This front room was parlor and






136


Helping the Helpless4


kitchen, dining room and bedroom, and the
rear room was the shop, where the old
tinker tried to mend umbrellas and all sorts
of tin ware. But the push-cart peddlers and
the five-cent emporiums had so vied with
each other in reducing the price of kitchen
ware that the housewife in that locality
preferred to buy shining new tins, rather
than pay for mending the old ones.
By odd jobs, as holding a horse on a
busy street, or carrying a heavy market
basket, a nickel now and then was added
to the small revenue from the shop, and the
old couple were enabled, for a good while,
to earn their rent, and bread, minus butter.
The little wife had ever done her share by
scrubbing, washing and knitting, until that
merciless fiend, rheumatism, gripped her
hands and knees. Forty years ago their
three children, two boys and a girl, were
tucked away to their last sleep in the
Lutheran Cemetery. In their old age the
parents were alone, except for each other.




AN AGED PILGRIM
Sunny and sweet, nearly blind and very lame. She crotchets baby jackets all day long, butneeds the help given by a generous friend, to live.










Aged Pilgrims


137


They dreaded separation in the almshouse
more than death. Since the young lives
were gone there was no incentive to learn
English, and so beyond a few stray words
they used or understood only the language
of the Fatherland.
One glad day, before this battle for bread
had turned finally against them, word came
from across the ocean that a relative, the
last of their kin, had died and willed them
a small sum for their old age. After legal
knots were untied and red tape unwound,
and a German lawyer well paid, the balance
of the legacy was placed in their hands.
"A staff for our old age when we grow
feeble and lame, thank God, Ein feste
Burg ist unser Gott," they said, as they
counted over the dollars. In a great, strong
building on the Bowery this staff would be
safe, for just as long as they could work
they would not lean upon it.
A neat, leather-covered book, with red
lines on the inside and letters on the out



138


Helping the Helpless


side, was handed them by a clerk, who,
peering out through the bars of his office
cage, said in good, strong German,. "You
must keep this book very carefully. Don't
roll or fold it. Keep it clean and don't
lose it. Be sure, now, you do not lose
it. Mind what I say."   What better or
safer place could there be in which to hide
the precious book than inside the bolster
case under the pillows of the feather bed.
When any errand took the old man into
nearness to the bank he would often stand
a moment to look the building over from
roof to door-step, with a feeling of content.
The battle for bread went on and grew
harder. Tins were cheaper, automobiles
crowded out the horses he used to hold,
German people moved away, and Italian
women had no need of help with their
bundles, or did not understand him. Should
they begin to use the staff? Not yet; not
yet. They could wait longer, until there
was no work, and they were more feeble.






Aged Pilgrims


139


When the "little mother" fell and had to
be carried to a hospital the old man said,
"I eat so little; I will get on until she gets
home, and then we must use the money."
Care, kindness and skill were generously
given to the "little mother,"-a foretaste of
heaven; but there was the dear man alone,
how her hungry heart longed for him-and
the home with him was best of all.
Poor as it was, it was home, and upon
her return she sought for the precious bank
book. To see it again would be a joy. The
big bed was opened, the gay patch-work
quilt thrown back, but where was the book?
It must have slipped down, or dropped behind-under the bed, perhaps.   Where?
The.book was gone. Every corner was
searched in vain. Bismarck and old Emperor William, grim and faded under
cracked glass, gave no cheer as she turned
the frames about to see if behind them the
book could have somehow hidden itself.
The old tinker joined in the search, and




140


Helping the Helpless


went out among the tins and refuse of the
shop to hunt. The book was gone; surely
gone!
Hoping to find it, fearing to tell of its
loss, ignorant of our language, and believing
that losing the book meant losing the
money, the little woman kept up her search
-looking, ever looking. The tinker, so
sure that thieves had taken the book, felt
less interest in the search, for at heart he
was confident that the book had been stolen.
Soon the weakness of old age crept in upon
them, like an incoming tide-slowly, steadily, surely. To live they must have help.
A missionary lady brought to them each
month the sum which the landlord asked for
the rent, a kindly nearby baker sent an occasional loaf, the market man often gave
them a bag of bones and a few vegetables.
So the old couple managed to keep soul and
body together. But every day the "little
mother" spent some of her time looking,
looking.






Aged Pilgrims


141


Fresh air work, as it should be, is largely
for restless, growing children; working
girls are having a share in such outings to
the country, to keep in health and heart
for their work; old people, these grownups, in their second childhood, are being
remembered also in fresh air plans, by
generous friends who give them one day
during the summer.
To such an outing, at a home near the
Sound, our old couple, the tinker and his
wife, were invited, with about forty others,
all over sixty years of age. The journey
seemed formidable; the New York Central
Station seemed at the ends of the earth,
and would it be safe to leave their home
all day,-the lock was rickety and somebody might get in and steal. But they
wanted to go,-it was a great event, this
being invited to a party.
There was no question about clothes. In
the hair-trunk, with its big, brass nails,
relic of the old home near the Rhine, was




142


Helping the Helpless


her best gown, the one she had owned for
forty years.  Gowns may grow   full or
gowns may grow scant; they may be long
or they may be short;-her one gown was
to her always in fashion. When the tinker
was arrayed in the old, faded blue coat and
the high hat of ancient shape, decorated
with many a dent, and the little wife in
gown and wrap and bonnet and mitts a
half-century old, they were a sight for the
envy of the most burlesque of vaudeville.
Not since they went out to lay their last
child in the cemetery had they been so far
from home, and "little mother" timidly
clung to the arm of her tall and distinguished-looking husband, never for one
moment letting go her hold. The day was
glorious, the sunshine and cool breeze, the
great trees and broad lawns, with crested
water beyond blue as the sky, made it seem
like heaven to these guests from the downtown city streets.
The lunch was so delicious, served by




Aged Pilgrims


143


smiling ladies in such pretty colors, with
jewels and tinkling ornaments, that the old
people were silent with wonder and admiration. Never could they forget that day.
Still clinging arm in arm, the old couple
returned to the basement home, and after
putting back into the hair-trunk their
festive garments, "little mother" lighted her
lamp for another search to find the missing
bank book.
Some months later, as the missionary
lady called with the rent, she said, "I am
sorry for you, dear people, that you have
not been willing to let me help you move
out from this damp place. Now the law
says you must. This building is condemned
and is to be pulled down, and I am arranging for two small rooms upstairs, on the
next street."
"Oh, I cannot go away! Oh, no, we
must stay a little longer," pleaded "little
mother," "we can't go away yet."






144


Helping the Helpless


But the law had to take its course; they
must move out.
Between the front room and the shop
was-not a closet, surely; it could not
rightly be called anything but a "poke-hole,"
hardly fit for a coal-bin. Old papers, old
rags, old tins, had accumulated in it. The
ever-searching German woman had spent
hours with her little lamp in there until her
husband had forbidden her to stay longer
in the dampness. Now she begged to have
everything there but the old tins, taken to
the new home-nothing was she willing to
throw away.
In pity, a compromise was made, and the
missionary lady said, "I will bring a big
light, and together we will sort over the
old stuff, and then only that which can do
somebody some good shall be saved; all the
rest must be left for the dump-cart."
As the rags were pushed about and some
of them handled, a rotten place in the old
floor was seen. Boards had fallen apart




Aged Pilgrims


145


and lime and broken plaster were sprinkled
over the place. The quick eyes of the
woman who had been for so many years
looking for a leather-covered book spied
something. What is it? Down into the
hole she dug; there was the bank book,
mouldy and stained!
"Ach, Gott, im Himmel!" she cried,
tears running down her face, as she clasped
it to her heart. "Mein Buch, Mein Buch!"
A greedy rat had evidently tasted the
corner, dragged it under the broken floor,
and left it there.
Interest upon interest was added at the
bank, when the missionary lady took the
almost illegible book to be balanced. There
was money enough to rent part of a cottage
in Jersey, with a bit of land which the old
man could help work, the owner of which
was a young German, and his wife, whose
grandparents had lived in the same village
where the tinker had been a boy. There
was money enough to keep the old couple




146        iHelping the Helpless
in frugal comfort, "a staff to lean on" in
their oldest years, and money enough to
lay them away, after a little time, near their
children in God's Acre.
GOING HOME
Out of the chill and the shadow
Into the thrill and the shine;
Out of the dearth and the famine
Into the fullness divine.
Up from the strife and the battle
(Oft with the shameful defeat),
Up to the palm and the laurel,
0, but the rest will be sweet!




t


XII
JOHN
HE home of the Wurtley
family was on the top
floor of a high building.
Many tenements, filled to
overflowing with children
and adults, were below. At the last narrow
stairway, the advantage of these higher
rooms could be felt, for there was a rush
of fresh air and a bit of real daylight. Of
course there were some drawbacks. The
stairs were long and the roof not quite the
best, for on a rainy day, when the wind
blew in a certain direction, it was necessary
to put up the family umbrella over the bed.
This shelter was a comfort to the tidy
English mother, and a sprinkle of water
mattered little to the so-called head of the
house, for he was often so filled with gin


147






148


HIelping the Helpless


that it seemed as though a few drops of
rain, if it should strike him, would only
hiss and splutter like water on a hot griddle.
John Wurtley, the elder, chose this skylight home not only because the rent was
cheaper, but because he disliked neighbors.
His English tastes would have led him, had
he been able to indulge them, to have his
home shut in by a thick hedge and a high
wall with a massive gateway. Even a moat
with a drawbridge would have pleased him.
The only one who passed by the door of
their attic home was an old man who
worked at night and slept all day. But
practical Mrs. Wurtley saw other advantages in this abode of two rooms on the
top floor, and as no one used the passageway, John, the younger, had an/airy bedroom all to himself. In a corner of the
hall, on a bag of excelsior and shavings,
with an old comforter, the boy rested and
watched the stars through his curtainless
windows, the wind playing with his hair.




John


149


"No rum for me," he would mutter to
himself after his father had stumbled up
the stairs. "Why does mother look so
white? Rum. Why does she have to work
so awful hard?   Rum.   Why are we
hungry?   Rum.    No  rum  for menever!" And he would pound the old ticking-bag bed with his fist.
Young John's fourteenth birthday was
eventful because on that day he could go
to work. He was now a man, and would
"get a job." Peter, the younger brother,
kept on selling newspapers before and after
school. The mother's feet kept the tireless
sewing machine running, for this meant
bread and shelter for herself and children.
Mr. Wurtley had a good trade but earned
very little more than enough to pay the
saloon bill. When the fire was low and
the shoes were shabby, John would grumble
about Dad keeping things going all night
down at the corner, where the brilliantly
lighted saloon was always warm.




150


Helping the Helpless


Mrs. Wurtley had no time or strength,
no suitable clothes, and no desire to go out
on the street or to make friends with anyone. With her old shawl on her head she
could reach the grocery quite unnoticed, and
so do any buying to which her willing boys
had not attended.
Into this monotony of life a cheery, tactful missionary lady came one day in her
tour of house-to-house visitation.
The tired and busy woman dropped her
work for a moment and with real, natural
courtesy welcomed the unknown friend.
"No," she said, "I can't get out to Church,
leastways, there's reasons, and as for that
Mothers' Meetin'-that's not for me. I
can't go, but I thank you for invitin' me.
Yes, in the old country I went some times,
them was better days. No, my boys don't
go to no Sunday School or Meetin'-thank
ye for askin', but it's all we can do to git
along as we be."
Again and again the cheery lady climbed






John


151


the stairs and called on the shut-in woman.
She brought to her a few flowers, or a
picture card of some rural English scene,
or a few papers of Sabbath Readings. The
welcome was always cordial and she was
always thanked for coming.
The caller did not see the father or the
boys until one day when, as she climbed
the stairs, a woman called out as she passed
her door, "You won't git in up there,tain't no use for you to climb any futher
-them  English is that proud. Her boy
got in a fight and is hurt,-they're no better
than none of us, if they does hold their
heads up so high. You won't git in."
But the cheery lady kept on climbing, and
sure enough there was young John, sitting
with his swollen feet upon the edge of the
washtub, while the sewing machine, as usual,
was buzzing and rattling along through the
long seam. The boy frowned and the
mother looked anxious as the visitor entered the room, but she gave a cordial




152


Helping the Helpless


greeting and began chatting with the
mother. It was as impossible to withstand
the kindness of the caller as to shut out the
warmth of the sunshine, and John became
so interested in the story of "her boys in
her Club" over at the Mission that he asked
her what it would cost to join. "We fellers
haven't got any places to have fun," said
the boy, "nobody wants us 'cept the saloon
man. He gives us a good welcome and says
we needn't buy any drinks, but just come
in and play cards, and when it's cold he
offers us just a taste of something to warm
us up.  But-No, I don't-you bet-see
enough of it, don't we mother?" Calls and
kindness at last won John into the Club, at
Sunday School he became a loyal member,
and after a time he joined the Christian Endeavor Society.
Like an officer with a medal of honor
John went to work one day with his C. E.
badge on his coat. Poor as they were,
with his stock of shirts and collars so small




John


153


that it seemed impossible for him always
to look the gentleman John called himself,
his mother kept him neat by often taking
his shirt and collar after he had gone to
bed and washing and ironing them ready
for the next day's use.
"Say, what you got on there," said one
of the boys at the store as they ate their
lunch in the basement, "C. E.-what's
that?" "Come, you old dude," said another,
"take it off-chuck it,-you can't play no
game on us. C. E.! Take it off." At
the refusal, a big bully grabbed John and
put his head under the faucet. "I'll take
some of your old dood starch out of you."
At the next noon the battle went on; these
boys filled his lunch box with sand. "That's
C.. E. stuff," said the bully. "Eat it or run
home and tell your Ma." "You've got to
take off that 'ere C. E. medal, d'ye hear?"
John kept his temper so well, showed such
grit in holding on to his C. E. badge, that
his persecutors began to wonder, and one






154


Helping the Helpless


day the leader said,-"I say, fellers, let's
go to that C. E. place and see what's it like,
anyhow. We'll get up some kind of a row
and have a good time,-so here's for 'C. E.'
-Come on!"
They came to the Club, were welcomed
and attracted, and later several joined the
Sunday School group taught by the "cheery
lady." Even the bully liked it all well
enough to hold on for many weeks. Sunday School did not last more than two
hours, Club Meeting came only once a
week, and the saloon doors were always
open.
The story of John's heroism in wearing
the C. E. badge was related to the boys
of a more fortunate class, who were pupils
in a military school on the Hudson. The
major and head teacher of this school
had a broader outlook on the equipment for
life than can be given by any curriculum of
study. The pupils came from well-to-do
homes, where everything that could be done




John


155


for their well-being and pleasure, was
looked after. But the ice-boats, the ball
games, the drill, and the study, were not
enough. There were Sunday night talks on
how other boys live, how other boys have
succeeded; and on some of these occasions
John's story found an appreciative audience.
As a result, these schoolboys agreed to
spend less of their spending-money allowance at the pie store, and to become responsible for the rent of a room in a downtown tenement to be called after the school,
"The Mohegan Room."
The Wurtley family were moved into
this tenement, and were given the use of
the kitchen and one small bedroom, while
Mrs. Wurtley was to use and care for the
larger, "The Mohegan Room." Two of the
Club boys paid for the other small bedroom. This plan was possible because Mr.
Wurtley had gone away.
One big wooden rocker, a few cheap pic



156


Helping the Helpless


tures, a folding bed, and a table brightened
by a turkey-red cloth, well covered with
magazines, papers and games which the
boys of the military school sent, after they
had finished with them, made an attractive
home for the boys. Here came Ben and
Jim and Tony and Joe, and others of their
kind, and as a patron saint in the big rocker
was John's mother, who sat there in the
evenings mending or sewing on buttons for
her boys.
When it was found best to give up the
"Mohegan Room" its good work did not
stop. "If you have any more young men
like the John Wurtley whom you sent us,"
wrote the head of a large business house on
Broadway, "remember there is always a
place here."
As this is a true story of real people
downtown a sad chapter must be added.
The dark follows the light, but the sunshine
always comes after the clouds. Peter did
not jump quick enough with his armful of




_ ____ __ __


John


157


papers one night and was killed in an accident. Mr. Wurtley came back worse than
ever, if that be possible, and before he died
he induced his wife, the good mother of
the boys, to try a little drink to drown her
sorrows, and for a time she yielded to
temptation.
Through all this terrible trouble John
stood firm. The cheery lady was his friend,
others stood by him, and when father died
the death of a drunkard, mother rallied,
and became again the true woman she had
been through many years.
Now, at the head of a large business
house in New York, John has an income
which enables him to rent a very comfortable uptown apartment near a park where
his wife and two children and the aged
mother live happily. And, best of all, the
home is a Christian home with no rum, or
its associate evils.




XIII


"HIS FATHER SAW HIM"
T  was the year of hard
times, and the financial
wheels moved so slowly
that many men willing to
work could not get a job.
An American family pulled up stakes in
the Massachusetts town where they lived,
and came to the big city, where surely there
would be plenty of work.
Their savings were used carefully; but
rent and food and fire and shoes made great
inroads on the little fund. The big tenement house, where they lived, swarmed
with men and women whose language was
a jargon; and the halls were full of the
smell of garlic. It was all so foreign-so
different from the country town, that the


158




"His Father Saw Him"


159


little family kept very closely to themselves.
But our worker, whose district took in
that part of Bleecker Street, found them,
and the wife soon learned to prize her
friendship, and the children watched for the
coming of the silver-haired lady.
"No," said the man, to the cordial invitation, "Thank you. I ain't no use for Church
or meetin's. I was a sailor a good many
years, and I don't feel good under a big
roof. What I want is work-work. My
wife and the kids likes your mother's
meetin's; they does her good, she says, and
anyhow the coffee and a little visitin' seems
to chirk her up-it's good of you."
A few odd jobs, here and there, were all
the work the man secured. The good
steady job did not turn up, and things began
to look dark.
The silver watch went into pawn; then
the big overcoat, the man declaring the city
was so warm he did not need it. Little
trinkets of early days followed, for the






160


Helping the Helpless


children were cold and hungry. At last
came a sleety day, when the landlord
threatened to put them all out on the street,
and the wife slipped over to the place of
the "three balls," and handed over her
precious wedding ring.
When the husband returned, hungry and
cold, and bitter at heart, and saw his wife's
hand without its golden circle, he burst out
into grievous words against God and man,
and flinging his arms around his wife, said,
"Now, I'm off; if God don't help me, the
devil will-if you don't see me, I'm
drowned-you'll be better off!"
With a slam of the door, and a clattering
down the tenement stairs, he disappeared,
and he did not come back.
What could the poor woman do but lean
on the patient, loving missionary lady who
had drunk of the cup of sorrow herself,
and knew where to lead the distressed
woman to find comfort.
Together they sought the morgue; they




A WHIRLPOOL OF HUMANITY
Form every nation and clime, and from all parts of our own land, people are continually
flocking into New York




qr






"His Father Saw Him"


161


visited the jail; and again took the weary
trip to the morgue; police were questioned
-but all in vain. The man had disappeared
utterly.
Many of the lines of our work were used.
House to house visitation, Mothers' Meetings, Day Nursery, had all been tried.
Now we needed money to redeem the
woman's warm suit and good shoes.
One institution was found where the
seven-year-old boy could be cared for. We
found a place where the woman could do
housework, in a Jersey town, and nearby
was a farmer, who would board the fouryear-old girl. It was near enough to the
mother so that once a week on her "day
out," she could appease the hunger of her
mother-heart by having her baby in her
arms.
The first money she earned went to the
pawn shop, and redeemed her wedding
ring, and next the big shaggy great coat.
"If I can't ever see him, I love to see his




162


Helping the Helpless


coat, and some day our boy maybe will
wear it."
One Sunday afternoon nearly two years
after this, we were at a little song service,
in one of the lodging houses for men on
the Bowery. At the close, the men were
invited to go to the Broome Street Tabernacle for the evening meeting. A few of
the men lagged along behind, and joined
the crowd gathered about the steps, where
a short welcoming service was carried on.
The little organ was unfolded, and we began with the hymn, "Jesus is calling, Jesus
is calling-Calling to-day, calling to-day."
A few words followed, the theme being the
Father's love for his prodigal son. In the
far country the Father had not forgotten
his child. He saw him even "when he was
afar off." God had seen each man of this
audience, in all his wanderings, and was
ready with his welcome.
One man who had followed from the
lodging house listened intently, with his






"His Father Saw Him"


163


eyes riveted, not on the speaker but on the
sweet face of the missionary-our dear
Mrs. Safford, gone long since to her rich
reward.
At the close he quickly stood by her and
touched her hand, saying, "Do you know
me? Where's my wife?" A slight hesitation made the man exclaim, "For God's
sake don't tell me she's dead!"
That bitter day, when the man rushed
away, he found himself on the edge of the
water, with the mad thought of destroying
himself. A ship was just starting out; he
was hailed by some one of the crew, taken
aboard, and sailed away. On his return he
visited his former tenement house, but only
strangers with a foreign tongue answered
his questions. On the Tabernacle steps, he
recognized the face of the missionary lady,
whom he had met in his home.
The rest of this little story is soon told.
We helped bring the family together, and
establish their home. The man became a




164      Helping the Helpless
Christian. Prosperity followed. He gradually paid for a cozy house on Long Island,
and he and his family are valuable members
of the Church and the community.
"And he came to his father. But when he
was yet a great way off, his father saw him,
and had compassion, and ran, and fell on
his neck, and kissed him."~




XIV


SCHOLARSHIPS
LD and feeble, her home a
rear tenement, Mrs. G.
was yet a real Christian
lady. She had been led
into the joy and peace of
a trust in Christ, and it shone in her
wrinkled face and faded eyes.
Living with her was her dear grandchild,
as sweet and bright as a bunch of heather.
Well might she be called "Annie Laurie."
The grandfather had done what he could
for his adopted country when he shouldered
his musket and marched away behind the
Stars and Stripes to do battle in the Southland: "Greater love hath no man than thisthat a man lay down his life."
Because of this sacrifice, pension money
came to the old widow, through the long
15






166


Helping the Helpless


years. It was not enough for any luxuries,
but young Annie tried to help as best she
could before and after school. There were
errands to be done for neighbors; a baby
to tend for some mother who had no caretaker for her little ones; or perhaps the
windows of a tenement needed washing,
and Annie on Saturday, could take off the
dust and dirt and let in the sunshine. Thus,
every week, Annie brought in dimes which
helped the old grandmother's scanty purse.
Surely "little Annie Laurie" was none the
less a lady. If "a man's a man for a'
that," is not a girl a lady for a' that?
In public school little Annie was at the
head of her class; at Sunday School and
Christian Endeavor she was a leader. As
the girl matured and grew still prettier and
more attractive, the need of different surroundings and more refined social life, with
other opportunities for education, became
very apparent.  We had watched her
growth, we had seen from month to month,




...SI
V.- -,  1\. I
I


_


-


A BASEMENT HOME
Lighted wholly by a gas jet. The thrifty mother cleans offices and sews. Even from such
a home have grown up men and women of Christian character.




I




Scholarships


167


and year to year the need to this young
life of a different atmosphere, outside of the
love and care of the old grandmother.
The gift of scholarships at the Moody
Schools had been given to me by our farsighted and generous friend, Miss Helen
Gould, now Mrs. Finley J. Shepard. The
question which confronted us was, would
the old lady be willing to let her only companion, the. child she loved and lived for,
go away from her? Would she not, with
her small income, realize the earning power
in shop or factory of so bright a girl; and
so prefer to keep her granddaughter with
her? Would she realize the poor surroundings to which she had become familiar, and
insist upon the really excellent advantages
of the High School for which the girl was
now ready?
With one of our trained nurses who had
cared for the old lady at many times of
sickness and had been a very special friend
to little Annie, I went down to the tenement




168


Helping the Helpless


home, to put this important decision before
the old grandmother, while Annie was at
school. The passage way from the front
of the building on the street to the rear
house at the back was so narrow, that we
had to hold back our skirts from the whitewash of the newly cleaned walls; carefully
we passed the garbage barrels of the inner
court, and entering the rear house, climbed
one dark flight of stairs to Mrs. G.'s door.
A smiling face greeted our coming and
everything was neatness itself within; the
kitchen stove shone like a mirror; the floor
little Annie kept scrubbed, was as the oft
quoted expression puts it, "clean enough to
eat off of." The teakettle sang cheerily and
cups were laid out on the table for our
coming.
Sitting there together we drew the picture
of the Northfield school buildings surrounded by great trees with grass and
flowers, and the lovely views on every side,
of the grand old hills, and the winding




Scholarships


169


river. We told of the valuable instruction,
the comfortable rooms, the happy girls, and
the beautiful and practical training for
Christian service. The old lady's face began to glow, there was no shadow nor word
of her own future loneliness, and how hard
it would be to live without the granddaughter, who was the life and light of
her heart and home. At last she quietly
said, "Wait, wait, I must see what my
Lord tells me to do, I must ask Him."
Mounting a wooden chair she reached up,
and took down from a high shelf at the
side of the room a ticking bag with something large and heavy within it. We helped
her step down as she kept her bundle
clasped in her arms, the ticking bag was
removed, and then she came to an inner
white bag and carefully brought out from
it a large old family Bible in heavy binding.
"You see," said Mrs. G., "the plaster is
often a bit loose and shakes down on everything; I always have the outside bag to






170


Helping the Helpless


keep it off, and then a nice clean white bag
is a good proper cover for my dear old
Bible." With the old wrinkled hands laid
on the cover there was a moment of silent
prayer, and then with closed eyes the Book
was opened tenderly and one old knotted
finger laid on a verse in "Isaiah," which she
read and then re-read, looking up at us with
a smile which made the old faded,
wrinkled face beautiful. The crumbling
plaster, the dingy wall, the tenement houses
were forgotten, all the old life slipped out
of sight, and the uplift and outlook of the
vision was of the kingdom of God-service
for Him-and trust in His power and
peace.
"Behold, I will do a new thing; now it shall
spring forth; shall ye not know it? I will even
make a way in the wilderness, and rivers in the
desert."
"Yes," said the old lady, with the open
Bible still on her lap, "my girl may go to
the Christian School, the Lord tells me."




Scholarships17


171


Annie went to Northfield. Not for long
did the grandmother have to live alone, for
God took her after a short illness f rom. the
tenement to a mansion prepared for her.
Of the honors Annie won, of the service
she rendered, at school and later college,
we may not write. She is not a part of
our downtown life. In a distant city Annie
and her educated, Christian husband are
making their home an inspiration to all who
come within its far reaching influence. It
is a lovely and loving home such as Jesus,
were He here, would, when weary at the
nightfall, want to visit even as at Bethany.
Other girls and boys for whom we have
worked, have made the most of their lives
by means of these scholarships, so that
many women and men to-day are in large
places of Christian usefulness and look back
gratefully to the time when they had "their
chance."
A girl who determined to become a




172


Helping the Helpless


teacher of ability had to struggle with conditions caused by the arrest of her father;
yet she succeeded.
A leader of men was a boy with the
awful handicap of a drunken parent.
A poor girl who desired a musical education overcame all her difficulties, and is an
artist and an exceptional teacher of music
to-day.
A boy whose bed consisted of two chairs
or the floor, is now doing editorial work.
A lad of grit and go, whose home was
very poor, is now well up in the legal profession.
An Italian lad who studied the life of
Lincoln at night in his tenement room, and
shined shoes on a ferryboat during the day,
has now the prefix of "Honorable" to his
name.


"Honour and shame from no condition rise;
Act well your part, there all the honour lies."








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