I give a nod which means, Certainly!

Mrs. Weiss appeared at her window above the grocery with a cloth wound about her head; appeared, and then vanished mysteriously.  Very well, Mr. Weiss,—­you know what to expect!  I gave you fair warning last time, and I shall be as good as my word!  Good heavens!  Is that—­it can’t be—­yes, it is—­a new McDonald baby at the saloon door!  And there was such a superfluity of the McDonald clan before!  One more wretched little human soul precipitated without a welcome into such a family circle as that!  It set me thinking, as I walked slowly back and toiled up the steps.  “I suppose most people would call this a hard and monotonous life,” I mused.  “There is an eternal regularity in the succession of amusing and heart-breaking incidents, but it is not monotonous, for I am too close to all the problems that bother this workaday world,—­so close that they touch me on every side.  No missionary can come so near to these people.  I am so close that I can feel the daily throb of their need, and they can feel the throb of my sympathy.  Oh! it is work fit for a saviour of men, and what—­what can I do with it?”

I sank into my small rocking-chair, and, clasping my arms over my head, bent it upon the table and closed my eyes.

The dazzling California sunshine streamed in at the western windows, touched the gold-fish globes with rosy glory, glittered on the brass bird-cages, flung a splendid halo round the meek head of the Madonna above my table, and poured a flood of grateful heat over my shoulders.  The clatter of a tin pail outside the door, the uncertain turning of a knob by a hand too small to grasp it:  “I forgitted my lunch bucket, ’n had to come back five blocks.  Good-by, Miss Kate.” (Kiss.) “Good-by, little man; run along.”  Another step, and a curly little red head pushes itself apologetically through the open door.  “You never dave me back my string and buzzer, Miss Kate.”  “Here it is; leave it at home to-morrow if you can, dear,—­will you?”

Silence again, this time continued and profound.  Mrs. Weiss was evidently not coming to-day to ask me if she should give blow for blow in her next connubial fracas.  I was thankful to be spared until the morrow, when I should perhaps have greater strength to attack Mr. Weiss, and see what I could do for Mrs. Pulaski’s dropsy, and find a mourning bonnet and shawl for the Gabilondo’s funeral and clothes for the new Higgins twins. (Oh, Mrs. Higgins, would not one have sufficed you?)

The events of the day march through my tired brain; so tired! so tired! and just a bit discouraged and sad too.  Had I been patient enough with the children?  Had I forgiven cheerfully enough the seventy times seven sins of omission and commission?  Had I poured out the love—­bountiful, disinterested, long-suffering—­of which God shows us the measure and fullness?  Had I—­But the sun dropped lower and lower behind the dull brown hills, and exhausted nature found a momentary forgetfulness in sleep.