This all came about because my fireside companion was a born collector.
Not of any reasonable thing like stamps or butterflies, but of stray
animals and wandering humans. Her affections embraced every created
thing that came out of the ark, including all the descendants of Mr. and
Mrs. Noah. A choice spot in my beloved garden, which was also Ishi's
heaven, housed a family of weather-beaten world-weary cats, three
chattering monkeys, that made love to Jane and hideous faces at
everybody else, a parrakeet and a blind pup. If the collection fell
short in quality, it abounded in variety. On one occasion she brought
home two ragged and hungry American sailors, and it required military
tactics to piece out the "left-over" lunch for them. Another time she
shared her room with a poor creature who had been a pretty woman, now
seeking shelter till her transportation could be secured.

Late one snowy night Jane came stumbling in weighted with an extra
bundle. Tenderly unwrapping the covering she disclosed a half-starved
baby. That day she had gone to a distant part of the city to assist in
organizing a soup kitchen, and a Bible class. On her way home she heard
a feeble cry coming from a ditch. She located a bundle of rags, and
found a bit of discarded humanity.

"Isn't it sweet?" murmured the little missionary as she laid the
weakling before the fire and fed it barley water with an ink dropper.
"I'm going to keep it for my very own. I've always wanted one," she
announced joyfully.

"Well, you just won't do anything of the kind," was my firm conclusion.
I had no wish to be unkind, but repression was the only course left. I
loved children, as I loved flowers, but it was impossible to inflate
another figure for expense.