“I cert’ny am glad to see you at last, lady,” said Mrs. Callahan, with rather an offended air, when Peggy and John Edward and Elmore and Susie ushered in the visitors.  “I been lookin’ for you to bring me that rent-money.  I told the agent’s young man he should have it early this afternoon.”

“I did not promise to let you have any money, Mrs. Callahan.”  Miss Margery’s tone was crisp and firm.  “On Monday you had all your rent-money except one dollar.  You said you expected to get that this week for sewing.”

“I ain’t got no sewin’ money,” said Mrs. Callahan.  “The lady she couldn’t make the change and she told me to come back Monday.  That’s why I had to send and ask you to lend me the loan of three dollars.”

“But it was one dollar you needed for the rent, Mrs. Callahan,” said Miss Margery, resolved to get to the bottom of the matter.

“Well, I did have two dollars but I had to spend it,” said Mrs. Callahan.  “I was thinkin’ I could get it somehow.  And I knew you could let me have it.  Ain’t that what the Charity’s for?”

That was what many of the ‘poor things’ thought, Miss Margery knew to her regret,—­that the Charity was merely a reservoir for the wasteful and the thriftless to draw from at will.  Could it ever be, she wondered, what it ought to be,—­a crutch to be cast aside with regained health, a hand of brotherhood to lift the fallen and teach them to stand alone, to steady the weak and make them strong?  How hard it was to give help, and at the same time to teach the poor to be self-helpful!  Miss Margery sighed, but she knew it was useless to argue the matter, so she only answered reprovingly, “I fear you have wasted money, Mrs. Callahan.  A neighbor told me you had been off with the children on an excursion.”

When Mrs. Callahan dimpled and chuckled as she did now, she looked like Peggy’s older sister.  “Peg told me Mrs. Flannagan went to you with that tale.  I cert’ny did fool her.  Why, Miss Margery, I ain’t been on no more ‘scursions than this old machine settin’ here.  When I took Mrs. Peckinbaugh’s sewin’ home, I carried the children with me, like she told me, for her to see how I’d fixed the clothes she give me.  She give us a reception like the president’s,—­sandwiches and lemonade and iced cakes and street-car fare back home.  I laugh every time I think how I fooled Mrs. Flannagan.  I told her that bundle of sewin’ was our lunch and wraps.  And she fool enough to believe me!” Mrs. Callahan laughed till tears stood in her eyes.

“Mrs. Callahan, aren’t you ashamed to tell falsehoods—­and before your little children, too?  How can you expect them to believe you?  And how can you expect them to tell the truth when you set them such an example?”

“Why, I wouldn’t tell a lie to harm anybody for the world,” said Mrs. Callahan.  “But there wouldn’t be no fun in livin’ if you didn’t tell white lies.”

Miss Margery saw that it was useless to protest.  “I think I ought not to give you any money, Mrs. Callahan,” she said, rising to go.  “You had it in your hand and you spent it.  If we give in such cases as this, we will not have funds to meet real need.”