Miss Vilda was knitting, and Samantha was shelling peas, on the
honeysuckle porch. It had been several days since Miss Cummins had gone
to the city, and had come back no wiser than she went, save that she had
made a somewhat exhaustive study of the slums, and had acquired a more
intimate knowledge of the ways of the world than she had ever possessed
before. She had found Minerva Court, and designated it on her return as
a "sink of iniquity," to which Afric's sunny fountains, India's coral
strand, and other tropical localities frequented by missionaries were
virtuous in comparison.

"For you don't expect anything of black heathens," said she; "but there
ain't any question in my mind about the accountability of folks livin'
in a Christian country, where you can wear clothes and set up to an
air-tight stove and be comfortable, to say nothin' of meetinghouses
every mile or two, and Bible Societies and Young Men's and Young Women's
Christian Associations, and the gospel free to all with the exception of
pew rents and contribution boxes, and those omitted when it's
necessary."

She affirmed that the ladies and gentlemen whose acquaintance she had
made in Minerva Court were, without exception, a "mess of malefactors,"
whose only good point was that, lacking all human qualities, they didn't
care who she was, nor where she came from, nor what she came for; so
that as a matter of fact she had escaped without so much as leaving her
name and place of residence. She learned that Mrs. Nancy Simmons had
sought pastures new in Montana; that Miss Ethel Montmorency still
resided in the metropolis, but did not choose to disclose her modest
dwelling-place to the casual inquiring female from the rural districts;
that a couple of children had disappeared from Minerva Court, if they