thing--vicarious suffering. From the central doctrine of its chief
creed to the system of its trade; from the vivisection-table to the
consumptive genius dying so that crowds of fat folk may get his soul in
a cheap form, it is all built up on sacrifice of other creatures.

'What'd you say if Ed'ard died for yer?' queried Hazel crudely.

'My dear! How unseemly! In the street!'

'And what'd I do if Foxy died for me?'

'Well, well, Foxy's only an animal.'

'So're you and me animals!' said Hazel so loudly that poor Mrs. Marston
flushed all over her gentle old face.

'So indecent!' she murmured. 'My dear,' she said, when she had steered
Hazel past the shop, 'you want a nice cup of tea. And I do hope,' she
went on softly, putting a great deal of cream in Hazel's cup as she
would have put lubricating oil on a stiff sewing-machine--'I do hope,
my dear, you'll become more Christian as time goes on.'

'If Foxy died along of me,' said Hazel stubbornly--for, although
grateful for the festive meal, she could not let her basic rule of life
slip--'if Foxy died along of me, I'd die too. I couldna do aught else.'

'Things are very different,' said Mrs. Marston, flustered, flushed and
helpless--'very different from what they used to be.'

'What for are they, Mrs. Marston?'