“They are,” replied Emma Copeland, her companion; “they belong to a German family that have moved into the little house back of Mr. Swift’s.”

“Do you know anything about them?”

Emma smiled; she had been waiting for this question. She knew that sooner or later Miss Vinton would find them out and would want to know all about them, not from curiosity, but from a desire and purpose to aid, if in any way they needed help that she could give.

“The family consists of the father and mother and these two children, besides the baby. The baby is sick, and I think they are quite poor. The children sell flowers; you remember there is a garden attached to that house. They go past every morning with baskets of flowers which they take to town. The father means to raise fruit and vegetables, but as this is the beginning, they are poorly prepared for sickness.”

“I see!” replied Miss Vinton thoughtfully. Presently she said, “Emma, I think you will have to go out upon an errand for me.”

“Down to the Rutgers?” asked Emma.

“Yes; your German will enable you to understand enough to find out their needs. Who is their physician, do you know?”

“I saw Doctor Prince pass this morning, perhaps he was going there.”

“There he is coming up the street now!” exclaimed Miss Vinton; “Emma, ask him to come in for a moment, if he is not in too much haste.”

He came in smiling, saying without being questioned, “You want to know about the Rutgers, I suppose?” he understood Miss Vinton.

“Yes; do they need anything that I can supply?”

“So far as I can judge they would do very well if it were not for this sickness. If you can send comforts for the sick child, it would help. I would suggest the loan of a cot-bed, a soft pillow, and something in the way of a child’s wrapper, besides nourishing, easily digested food. Milk, beef extract—you know what to send?”

“Do you think the child will get well?”

“There is no reason why, with proper care and plenty of nourishing food, the child should not recover. If the family could be relieved so that the mother could give her whole time to the care of the child all would be well, so far as I can see.”

“I understand. I will see what I can do.”

Then the doctor bowed himself out, and as he went down street he said within himself, “I declare! to look at that girl and know what her sufferings are, one would feel that if any one could be excused for letting other people take care of themselves she would be the one. Yet she does more to help the poor, and smooth the beds of the sick and suffering than any other five women in this whole town! The Rutgers will find their path brightening, I am thinking!”

This was a true prophecy. Emma Copeland knew just how to carry out the wishes of her friend, and before noon the sick child lay in a clean white wrapper upon a fresh cot-bed. A little stand stood near with a white napkin spread upon it and a tray with a cup of beef tea, a glass of milk, a tiny saucer of nourishing jelly, a silver spoon on the tray, another beside the glass of medicine, and the mother had been made to understand that she was to give her whole time to the care of her sick child. A loaf of bread, and a piece of meat, and other things from the Vinton larder emphasized this injunction. The children, Carl and Gretchen, moved softly about; Conrad himself peeped in now and then to look upon the little one lying now so comfortably in the white bed, going back to his work with a lighter heart, saying in his native tongue, “God bless the kind lady!” One morning a visitor said to May Vinton:

“I am afraid you trouble yourself too much about other people. I hear you have taken up a poor German family. Why do you not let the authorities take care of the town’s poor?”

“Well, I am egotistical enough to think that I can do some things better than the authorities! They do not give sympathy, nor advice; and this is what some people need most of all. Then again Christ was not speaking of the public authorities when he said, ‘Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these ye have done it unto me.’ Besides a little help to these people, such as we would give to any friend in the time of sickness, does not degrade them in their own eyes nor in the estimation of their neighbors, as help from a public charity might. They only needed tiding over a deep place, now they will do well enough.”

And so they did. A few weeks later the cot-bed was again in its place in Mrs. Vinton’s store-room. The sick child was every day putting on flesh and strength. The mother could now care for her household, and the whole family rejoiced, with hearts full of love and gratitude to their new friend. Carl and Gretchen came now and then to visit Miss Vinton, always bringing some little token. The children were shy little things, but it was a great treat to them to go into that handsome room and talk with its fair, though suffering occupant. In their gratitude they treasured every word she uttered, and carried away many useful lessons.

One day, long afterward, when Gretchen had grown to be a young lady and Carl was studying in the High School, some one remarked, “How that family have risen in the world! It is only a few years since they came here, poor and friendless, now they have a home and circle of friends. There’s the Ketlers who came over at the same time. They have not prospered nearly so well; the children have grown up in comparative ignorance. I do not understand what has made the difference.”

“I can explain it,” said another, “there’s an influence going out from that front corner room of the Vinton homestead which has power to revolutionize hearts and lives and to build up families; when the Rutgers first came they fell under that influence, and it is this which has made the difference. I suppose a small sum would cover all the money Miss Vinton expended for the family, but there is a great deal in doing things at the right time and in giving your money and sympathy when most needed.”

“But there must be something back of what we see,” said the first speaker.

“Yes; a consecrated life lies behind the work.”

Faye Huntington.