1
THE poor of Seabourne were really non-existent; but since certain types
of religiously-minded people are not happy unless they find some class
beneath them on whom to lavish unwelcome care, the churches of each
denomination, and of these there were at least four, invented deserving
poor for themselves and visited them strenuously. Of all the pastors in
the little town, Father Cuthbert was the most energetic.
Mrs. Ogden was particularly interested in this branch of church work.
District visiting had come to her as second nature; she had found
immense satisfaction and a salve to her pride in patronizing people who
could not retaliate. But lately her failing health made the long walks
impossible, so that she was reduced to sitting at home and thinking out
schemes whereby the humbler members of the congregation might be coerced
into doing something that they did not want to.
She looked up from her paper one morning with triumph in her eye. "I
knew it would come!" she remarked complacently.
"What would come?" Joan inquired.
She did not feel that she cared very much just then if the Day of
Judgment itself were at hand; but long experience had taught her that
silence was apt to make her mother more loquacious than an assumption of
interest.
"The influenza; I knew it would come! There are three cases in
Seabourne."
"Well, what of it?" said Joan, yawning. "The world's very much
over-populated; I'm sure Seabourne is."
"My dear, don't be callous, and it's the pneumonic kind; I believe those
Germans are still spreading microbes."
"Oh, nonsense!" said Joan irritably.
Mrs. Ogden went over to her bureau and began rummaging in a drawer; at
last she found what she was looking for. "These worsted vests must go to
the Robinsons to-day," she declared. "That eldest girl of theirs must
put one on at once; with her tendency to bronchitis, she's an absolute
candidate for influenza."
Joan made a sound of impatience. "But, Mother, you know the girl hates
having wool next her skin; she says it makes her itch; she'll never wear
them."
"Oh, but she _must_; you'll have to see her mother and tell her I sent
you; it's nonsense about wool making the skin irritate."
"I don't agree with you; lots of people can't wear it. I can't myself,
and, besides, the Robinsons don't want our charity."
"The poor always need charity, my dear."
"But they're not poor; they're probably better off than we are, or they
ought to be, considering what that family earned during the war."
"I can't help what they earned in war-time, Joan; they're poor enough
now; everyone is, with all the unemployment."
"I daresay, only they don't happen to be unemployed."
"I expect they will be soon," said Mrs. Ogden with ghoulish optimism.
Joan sighed; this task of thrusting herself on people who did not want
her was one of the trials of life. For many years she had refused to be
a district visitor, but lately this too had been one of the duties that
her mother's increasing age imposed upon her. Mrs. Ogden worried herself
ill if she thought that her share in this all-important work was being
neglected, so Joan had given in.
She stretched out her hand for the vests. "How they must hate us," she
said thoughtfully.