“Things going badly in school?” he inquired.

“Yes,” she replied.  There was silence.

“What’s wrong?”

“To-night we had a line of mothers reaching out into the street.  They had come for food and coal—­but we had to send most of them home empty-handed.  Some of them cried—­and one of them fainted.  She’s to have a baby soon.”

“Can’t you get any money uptown?” he asked.

“I have,” she answered grimly.  “I’ve been a beggar—­heaven knows—­on every friend I can think of.  And I’ve kept a press agent hard at work trying to make the public see that Belgium is right here in New York.”  She stopped and went on with her supper.  “But it’s a bad time for work like mine,” she continued presently.  “If we’re to keep it going we must above all keep it cheap.  That’s the keynote these days, keep everything cheap—­at any cost—­so that men can expensively kill one another.”  Her voice had a bitter ring to it.  “You try to talk peace and they bowl you over, with facts on the need of preparedness—­for the defence of your country.  And that doesn’t appeal to me very much.  I want a bigger preparedness—­for the defence of the whole world—­for democracy, and human rights, no matter who the people are!  I’d like to train every child to that!”

“What do you mean?” her father asked.

“To teach him what his life can be!” she replied in a hard quivering tone.  “A fight?  Oh yes!  So long as he lives—­and even with guns if it must be so!  But a fight for all the people on earth!—­and a world so full of happy lives that men will think hard—­before ever again letting themselves be led by the nose—­into war and death—­for a place in the sun!” She rose from her chair, with a weary smile:  “Here I am making a speech again.  I’ve made so many lately it’s become a habit.  I’m tired out, dad, I’m going to bed.”  Her father looked at her anxiously.

“You’re seeing things out of proportion,” he said.  “You’ve worked so hard you’re getting stale.  You ought to get out of it for a while.”

“I can’t!” she answered sharply.  “You don’t know—­you don’t even guess—­how it takes every hour—­all the demands!”

“Where’s Allan these days?”

“Working,” was her harsh reply.  “Trying to keep his hospital going with half its staff.  The woman who was backing him is giving her money to Belgium instead.”

“Do you see much of him?”

“Every day.  Let’s drop it.  Shall we?”

“All right, my dear—­”

And they said good-night ...

* * * * *

In the meantime, in the house, Edith had tried to scrimp and save, but it was very difficult.  Her children had so many needs, they were all growing up so fast.  Each month brought fresh demands on her purse, and the fund from the sale of her belongings had been used up long ago.  Her sole resource was the modest allowance her father gave her for running the house, and she had not asked him for more.  She had put off trouble from month to month.  But one evening early in March, when he gave her the regular monthly check, she said hesitatingly: