"With aching hands and bleeding feet, We dig and heap, lay stone on stone;
We bear the burden and the heat
Of the long day and wish 't were done.
Not till the hours of light return
All we have built do we discern."
 
Patsy had scarcely gone when the door opened again the least bit, and a sunny face looked in, that of my friend and helper.
 
"Not gone yet, Kate?"
 
"No, but I thought I sent you away long ago."
 
"Yes, I know, but I've been to see Danny Kern's mother: there is nothing to be done; we must do our best and leave it there. Was that a boy I met on the stairs?"
 
"Yes,—that is, he is a boy in the sense that he is not a girl. Oh, Helen, such a story! We must take him!"
 
She sank helplessly on one of the children's tables. "Now, my dear guide, philosopher, and friend, did you happen to notice my babies this morning? They were legion! Our mothers must have heard that the Flower Mission intended giving us some Thanksgiving dinners, for there were our five inevitable little cat's-paws,—the identical five that applied just before the Christmas tree, disappeared in vacation, turned up the day before we went to the Mechanics' Fair, were lost to sight the day after, presented themselves previous to the Woodward's Garden expedition, and then went into retirement till to-day. Where am I going to 'sit' another child, pray? They were two in a seat and a dozen on the floor this morning. It isn't fair to them, in one sense, for they don't get half enough attention."
 
"You are right, dear; work half done is worse than wasted; but it isn't fair to this child to leave him where he is."
 
"Oh, I know. I feel Fridayish, to tell the truth. I shall love humanity again by Monday. Have we money for more chairs or benches?"
 
"Certainly not."
 
"You'll have to print an appeal for chairs; and the children may wear out the floor sitting on it before the right people read it!"
 
"Yes; and oh, Helen, a printed appeal is such a dead thing, after all. If I could only fix on a printed page Danny Kern's sm............