wandered over to Old Paloma, and spent the forenoon in the dingy
streets across the river. What she did there, perhaps no one but
Doctor Brown, who came to have a real affection and respect for her,
fully appreciated. Mrs. Burgoyne would tell him, when they met in
some hour of life or death, that she was "making friends." It was
quite true. She was the type of woman who cannot pass a small child
in the street. She must stop, and ask questions, decide disputes and
give advice. And through the children she won the big brothers and
sisters and fathers and mothers of Old Paloma. Even a deep-rooted
prejudice against the women of her class and their method of dealing
with the less fortunate could not prevail against her disarming,
friendly manner, her simple gown and hat, her eagerness to get the
new baby into her arms; all these told in her favor, and she became
very popular in the shabby little settlement across the bridge. She
would sit at a sewing-machine and show old Mrs. Goodspeed how to
turn a certain hem, she would prescribe barley-water and whey for
the Barnes baby, she would explain to Mrs. Ryan the French manner of
cooking tough meat, it is true; but, on the other hand, she let pale
little discouraged Mrs. Weber, of the Bakery, show her how to make a
German potato pie, and when Mrs. Ryan's mother, old Mrs. Lynch,
knitted her a shawl, with clean, thin old work-worn hands, the tears
came into her bright eyes as she accepted the gift. So it was no
more than a neighborly give-and-take after all. Mrs. Burgoyne would
fall into step beside a factory girl, walking home at sunset. "How
was it today, Nellie? Did you speak to the foreman about an opening
for your sister?" the rich, interested voice would ask. Or perhaps
some factory lad would find her facing him in a lane. "Tell me, Joe,
what's all this talk of trouble between you and the Lacy boys at the
rink?"