Why
even strong people can scarce live in a place like this where the
sunshine never come, where it is cold and damp all the time. How can the
poor little mother hope to grow well again in such a place, without good
food, often without a fire, the air not fit for anyone to breathe. I
think of it all the time. I lie awake at night and think of it, it is
before me all day at my work. Money, money, if only I have a little
money, I can save my mother yet. Then the chance come, the money is
there before me. I look at it, I take it. That is all.
"You ask me why I steal that money. I steal it for her, my mother; to
save her life. Yes, and for her, too, the blind grandmother, and for
them," and she pointed to a very old woman sitting close to the stove
and holding in her arms a whimpering child of four. At her side
crouched two more children, somewhat older, huddled together in a ragged
shawl. They wore neither shoes nor stockings and the small feet were
blue with cold.
"Oh, you poor child," exclaimed the forewoman, her eyes filling with
tears. "Why did you not tell me a week ago instead of taking that money,
for one wrong can never right another; why did you not tell me? We might
not have been able to save your mother, but we could have helped you.
Even after you took the money, if you had told me all, something might
have been done for you.
Pages:
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109