"Yes," palpitated Miss Flora. "He's sick, and he lost his position, and his wife's sick, and two of the children, and one of 'em's lame, and another's blind. Oh, it was such a pitiful story, Maggie! Why, some days they haven't had enough to eat—and just look at me, with all my chickens and turkeys and more pudding every day than I can stuff down!"

"Did he give you any references?"

"References! What do you mean? He didn't ask me to HIRE him for anything."

"No, no, dear, but I mean—did he give you any references, to show that he was—was worthy and all right," explained Miss Maggie patiently.

"Of course he didn't! Why, he didn't need to. He told me himself how things were with him," rebuked Miss Flora indignantly. "It's all in the letter there. Read for yourself."

"But he really ought to have given you SOME reference, dear, if he asked you for money."

"Well, I don't want any reference. I believe him. I'd be ashamed to doubt a man like that! And YOU would, after you read that letter, and look into those blessed children's faces. Besides, he never thought of such a thing—I know he didn't. Why, he says right in the letter there that he never asked for help before, and he was so ashamed that he had to now."

Mr. Smith made a sudden odd little noise in his throat. Perhaps he got choked. At all events, he was seized with a fit of coughing just then.

Miss Maggie turned over the letter in her hand.

"Where does he tell you to send the money?"

"It's right there—Box four hundred and something; and I got a money order, just as he said."

"You GOT one! Do you mean that you've already sent this money?" cried Miss Maggie.

"Why, yes, of course. I stopped at the office on the way down here."

"And you sent—a money order?"

"Yes. He said he would rather have that than a check."

"I don't doubt it! You don't seem to have—delayed any."

"Of course I didn't delay! Why, Maggie, he said he HAD to have it at once. He was going to be turned out—TURNED OUT into the streets! Think of those seven little children in the streets! Wait, indeed! Why, Maggie, what can you be thinking of?"

"I'm thinking you've been the easy victim of a professional beggar, Flora," retorted Miss Maggie, with some spirit, handing back the letter and the picture.

"Why, Maggie, I never knew you to be so—so unkind," charged Miss Flora, her eyes tearful. "He can't be a professional beggar. He SAID he wasn't—that he never begged before in his life."

Miss Maggie, with a despairing gesture, averted her face.

Miss Flora turned to Mr. Smith.

"Mr. Smith, you—YOU don't think so, do you?" she pleaded.

Mr. Smith grew very red—perhaps because he had to stop to cough again.