stay the way it is. Wears the childern plumb out washin' 'em an' learnin'
'em lessons, an' harpin' on their manners. If you believe me, she's got
William J. that hacked he goes behind the door to blow his nose!"

"It's a blessin' she didn't go off with them 'Follies,'" said Mrs.
Smelts. "Birdie lost her job over two months ago, an' the Lord knows what
she's livin' on. The last I heard of her she was sick an' stranded up in
Cincinnati, an' me without so much as a dollar bill to send her!" And
Mrs. Smelts sat down in a puddle of soap-suds and gave herself up to the
luxury of tears.

At this moment a door on the third floor banged, and Nance Molloy, a
white figure against her grimy surroundings, picked her way gingerly down
the slippery steps. Her cheap, cotton skirt had exactly the proper flare,
and her tailor-made shirtwaist was worn with the proud distinction of one
who conforms in line, if not in material, to the mode of the day.

"Ain't she the daisy?" exclaimed Mrs. Snawdor, gaily, and even Mrs.
Smelts dried her eyes, the better to appreciate Nance's gala attire.

"We're too swell to be Methodist any longer!" went on Mrs. Snawdor,
teasingly. "We're turned 'Piscopal!"

"You ain't ever got the nerve to be goin' over to the cathedral," Mrs.
Smelts asked incredulously.

"Sure, why not?" said Nance, giving her hat a more sophisticated tilt.
"Salvation's as free there as it is anywhere."

It was not salvation, however, that was concerning Nance Molloy as she