"You seem to be in good health," said Mr. Prescott, looking at the
woman.
"Yes sir, thank God! And if it wasn't for that, I don't know what we
should all have done. Everything has fallen upon me since John,
there, has been ailing."
Mr. Prescott glanced around the room, and then remarked, a little
pleasantly:
"I don't see that you make the best use of your health and
strength."
The woman understood him, for the color came instantly to her face.
"There is no excuse for dirt and disorder," said the visitor, more
seriously. "I once called to see a poor widow, in such a state of
low health that she had to lie in bed nearly half of every day. She
had two small children, and supported herself and them by fine
embroidery, at which she worked nearly all the time. I never saw a
neater room in my life than hers, and her children, though in very
plain and patched clothing, were perfectly clean. How different is
all here; and yet, when I entered, you all sat idly amid this
disorder, and--shall I speak plainly--filth."
The woman, on whose face the color had deepened while Mr. Prescott
spoke, now rose up quickly, and commenced bustling about the room,
which, in a few moments, looked far less in disorder. That she felt
his rebuke, the visiter regarded as a good sign.
"Now," said he, as the woman resumed her seat, "let me give you the
best maxim for the poor in the English language; one that, if lived
by, will soon extinguish poverty, or make it a very light
thing,--'God helps those who help themselves.
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