The Making of Mary | Page 4

to be
non-sectarian, non-religious, humanitarian, in the broadest sense of the
term. Ah! There's Belle now," and I gave a sigh of relief as I heard my
wife's latch-key in the front door.
She came in with an out-of-door breeze, her dark face glowing from the

wintry wind, flakes of newly fallen snow resting like diamonds upon
her prematurely white hair, and her brown eyes sparkling with the
animation of twenty summers rather than of forty-two.
"Children all gone to bed? That's right! Don't go, mother! I'm sure
you'll like to hear about the House of Refuge. We've got it fixed at last!
Those rich old lumbermen that won't give a cent to a church, or any
charity connected with one, have gone to the bottom of their pockets
this time. Fancy Peter Wood, Dave--five hundred dollars! And Jeff
Henderson, five hundred. I have the list in my bag. Like to see it?"
"No' the nicht, thenk ye," said my mother stiffly, but I added:
"Hand it over to me, and I'll put it in to-morrow's Echo. That's what
they want."
"Nothing of the kind, you old cynic! I shan't tell you another thing
about it." But still she went on: "We've taken the old Laurence house
on the corner of Garfield Avenue and Pine Street, and it's to be fitted up
to accommodate any sort of refugees."
"Irrespective of race, creed, sex, or color," I whispered parenthetically.
"No one is ever to be turned from the door without a good square meal,
and there's to be a back, outside stair erected, up which a tramp can go
at any hour of the night, and find a nice clean bed awaiting him--locked
away from the rest of the house, of course."
"Oh, why?" I innocently inquired. "Surely you have enough faith in
your brother man to believe that he would not commit any breach of
hospitality?"
"I have," replied Belle, squeezing my recumbent form further against
the back of the sofa, upon which she had seated herself. "But remember
we are not all theosophists on the Board."
In the words of the historic witness against Mrs. Muldoon, "That's the
way the row began!" Belle was elected Treasurer of the House of

Refuge, but as she knows nothing of figures, I had to keep the books of
that unique institution, and was therefore enabled to form a practical
estimate of its workings.
I shall not attempt a description of the numerous "cases" in which my
advice, if not my pocketbook, was freely drawn upon, but shall leave
them, along with the description of the many antecedent fads of my
beloved better half, to some historian of longer wind, and shall content
myself with recounting the particular "case"--and attachments--which
most nearly affected our family life and happiness.
* * * * *
"This is what I call solid comfort," said Belle to me one evening late in
September, as we sat in the parlor in a couple of deep, springy
armchairs, fronting a huge grate fire, that would be banished by the
lighting of the furnace. "Children all in school again, your mother off
on a long visit, and plenty of new books on the table."
I looked up from one of the aforesaid new books.
"Just wait! The season's business hasn't begun in the Refuge yet."
"Everything is in good shape for it, though. We've had enough
donations of groceries and vegetables to keep us going almost all
winter. We've lots of wood for the furnace, and Mack and Hardy have
given us some second-hand furniture and----"
The electric door-bell sent out a long, imperative summons.
"Who can that be, Dave, at this time of night? None of the boys locked
out?"
"No; they all went up to bed a while ago."
Belle rose and walked to the door. I pulled the tidy from my chair-back
over my bald head to protect me from the draught, but that did not
prevent me from hearing what went on.

"Are you Mrs. Gemmell?" This from a female voice, breathless with
excitement.
"I am."
"Then you are one of the trustees of the House of Refuge?" gasped
another feminine speaker.
"Yes. Won't you come in?"
"No, thank you. We've just come to tell you about this young girl who
has run to us for protection."
"We're school-teachers, mawm."
"She's in my class, and she hasn't a friend in the city and knew nowhere
else to go."
Then followed some hysterical whispers, which roused my curiosity so
much that I went to the door and peeped over the shoulder of my tall
wife. The two plain, business-like young women were evidently much
distressed, but between them was a fair-haired slip of a girl of fifteen or
sixteen, the least disturbed of the group. The three older women might