“But not so much.  It curtails them in their luxuries, and us in our necessities; perhaps I shouldn’t mention, but after my husband had become a confirmed drunkard, and all hope had died out of my heart, I hadn’t time to sit down and brood helplessly over my misery.  I had to struggle for my children and if possible keep the wolf from the door; and besides food and clothing, I wanted to keep my children in a respectable neighborhood, and my whole soul rose up in revolt against the idea of bringing them up where their eyes and ears would be constantly smitten by improper sights and sounds.  While I was worrying over my situation and feeling that my health was failing under the terrible pressure of care and overwork, Mrs. Roberts brought me work; ‘What will you do this for,’ she said, displaying one of the articles she wanted made.  I replied,’One dollar and twenty-five cents,’ and I knew the work well worth it.  ‘I can get it done for one dollar,’ she replied, ‘and I am not willing to give any more.’  What could I do?  I was out of work, my health was poor, and my children clutching at my heart strings for bread; and so I took it at her price.  It was very unprofitable, but it was better than nothing.”

“Why that is very strange.  I know she pays her dressmaker handsomely.”

“That is because her dressmaker is in a situation to dictate her own terms; but while she would pay her a large sum for dressmaking, she would screw and pinch a five-cent piece from one who hadn’t power to resist her demands.  I have seen people save twenty-five or fifty cents in dealing with poor people, who would squander ten times as much on some luxury of the table or wardrobe.  I[?] often find that meanness and extravagance go hand in hand.”

“Yes, that is true, still Mrs. Gough, I think people often act like Mrs. Roberts more from want of thought than want of heart.  It was an old charge brought against the Israelite, ‘My people doth not consider.’”

* * * * *

“What is the matter, my dear?” said Belle a few mornings after this conversation as she approached the bedside of Mary Gough, “I thought you were getting along so nicely, and that with proper care you would be on your feet in a few days, but this morning you look so feeble, and seem so nervous and depressed.  Do tell me what has happened and what has become of your beautiful hair; oh you had such a wealth of tresses, I really loved to toy with them.  Was your head so painful that the doctor ordered them to be cut?”

“Oh, no,” she said burying her face in the pillow and breaking into a paroxysm of tears.  “Oh, Miss Belle, how can I tell you,” she replied recovering from her sudden outburst of sorrow.

“Why, what is it darling?  I am at a loss to know what has become of your beautiful hair.”