"Something nice happened to me to-day," she said, softly. "Something
that made me realize how worth while life is. You know we have five
thousand women working here--almost double that during the holidays. A
lot of them are under twenty and, Emma, a working girl, under twenty,
in a city like this--Well, a brand new girl was looking for me today.
She didn't know the way to my office, and she didn't know my name. So
she stopped one of the older clerks, blushed a little, and said, 'Can
you tell me the way to the office of the Comfort Lady?' That's worth
working for, isn't it, Emma McChesney?"

"It's worth living for," answered Emma McChesney, gravely. "It--it's
worth dying for. To think that those girls come to you with their
little sacred things, their troubles, and misfortunes, and
unhappinesses and--"

"And their disgraces--sometimes," Mary Cutting finished for her. "Oh,
Emma McChesney, sometimes I wonder why there isn't a national school
for the education of mothers. I marvel at their ignorance more and
more every day. Remember, Emma, when we were kids our mothers used to
send us flying to the grocery on baking day? All the way from our
house to Hine's grocery I'd have to keep on saying, over and over:
'Sugar, butter, molasses; sugar, butter, molasses; sugar, butter,
molasses.' If I stopped for a minute I'd forget the whole thing. It
isn't so different now. Sometimes at night, going home in the car
after a day so bad that the whole world seems rotten, I make myself
say, over and over, as I used to repeat my 'Sugar, butter, and
molasses.' 'It's a glorious, good old world; it's a glorious, good old
world; it's a glorious, good old world.' And I daren't stop for a
minute for fear of forgetting my lesson."