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“Oh, come now. That’s rather strong,” remonstrated Doctor Ingraham, with a quizzical glance at Miss Bailey. Mrs. Mogilewsky wheeled towards her benefactress.

“Do you know Morris’s teacher?” she asked eagerly. “Ach, lady, kind lady, tell me where is her house; I like I shall tell her how she make sickness on my little boy. He lays on the bed over her. I like I should tell her somethings.”

“Mrs. Mogilewsky,” began Miss Bailey, gently, “there is nothing you could say to her that would make her more sorry than she is. She is broken-hearted already, and if you don’t stop talking like that you will make her cry. And then Morris would surely cry too; shouldn’t you, dearie?”

“Teacher, yiss ma’an,” quavered Morris.

“You!” groaned Mrs. Mogilewsky. “Be you Morris’s teacher? Gott, how I makes mistakes! So you learn him that foolishness extra so he gets chawed off of horses?”

“Nonsense,” interposed the doctor. “Miss Bailey is ridiculously fond of that child of yours.”

“So-o-oh,” began Mrs. Mogilewsky. “So-o-oh, she ain’t done it extra?”

“Purposely? Of course not,” answered the doctor.

“Ach, well, I should better maybe, excuse her.” Mrs. Mogilewsky, placated and bland, resumed: “I excuse her the while she ain’t so awful old. She makes, sometimes, mistakes too. I like you should come–the both–on my house for see me some day. That makes me glad in mine heart.”

“Oh mamma, mamma,” cried Morris, “they couldn’t to come by our house. They is Krishts. She is Krishts und he is Krishts. From long she tells me. Und you says, you says–“

“Think shame,” his mother admonished him. “Ain’t you seen how she is lovin’ mit you? Und Morris, mine golden one, I am all times lovin’ mit somebody what is lovin’ mit you. Ain’t I excused her over it und made her invitation on my house?

“And we shall be delighted,” said the doctor, as he led the speechless Miss Bailey away. “It is uncommonly good of you to have forgiven her. But, as you, with keenest insight, discern, she is not very old. Perhaps she will reform.”

“Reform! I hate the very word,” sighed Miss Bailey, for the day had been trying and her discouragement was great. “I’ve been trying to reform these people ever since I came down here. I’ve failed and failed and failed; misunderstood time and time again; made mistake after mistake. And now I’ve nearly killed that boy. The woman was right. It was all my fault.”

“It might be better–” began the Doctor and halted. “You might be happier if you–“

“Resigned?” suggested Teacher. “Yes, sometimes I think I shall.” “Do,” said Doctor Ingraham. “That’s a capital beginning.”