But whatever their style and make had been, and whoever might have been their original wearers, they had now one common characteristic--that of utter and complete uselessness. I ought to have been disgusted with the old rubbish, but somehow the old things appealed to me, though they seemed to reproach me, and lay their social death to my charge and their present neglect to my interference. But gladness was mixed with pathos, for I knew that a hundred widows had gone to their homes decently booted on a dismal Christmas Eve. But now, leaving the old boots to the fate that awaited them, I will tell of the women who had so recently possessed them. It had long been a marvel to me how the very poor obtained boots of any sort and kind. I had learned so much of their lives and of their ways and means that I realized boots and shoes for elderly widows or young widows with children must be a serious matter. Accordingly, at this particular Christmas I issued, on behalf of the Home Workers' Aid Association, invitations to one hundred widows to my house, where each widow was to receive a new pair of boots and Christmas fare. They came, all of them, and as we kept open house all day, I had plenty of time to converse with them individually. I learned something that day, so I want to place faithfully before my readers some of the things that happened and some of the stories that were told. One of the first to arrive was an elderly widow, accompanied by her epileptic daughter, aged thirty. I looked askance at the daughter, and said to the widow: "I did not invite your daughter." "No, sir; but I thought you would not mind her coming." "But I do mind, for if every widow brings a grown-up daughter to-day I shall have two hundred women instead of one hundred." "I am very sorry, sir; but I could not come without her." They sat down to some food, and my wife looked up a few things for the daughter. "Now for the boots," I said. "Of course, we cannot give your daughter a pair." "No," said the widow; "we only want one pair." I knew what was coming, for I had taken stock of the daughter, who was much bigger than her mother. "What size do you take?" "Please, sir, can my daughter try them on?" "No; the boots are for you." "Oh yes, sir, they will be my boots, but please let my daughter try them on." It was too palpable, so I said: "Your daughter has bigger feet than you have." "Yes, sir." "And you want a pair that will fit either of you?" "Yes, sir." "Then when you go out you will wear them?" "Oh yes, sir." "And when your daughter goes out, she will wear them--in fact, you want a pair between you?" "Yes, sir," the reply came eagerly from both. "Well, put your right feet forward." They did, and there was no doubt about it: mother and daughter both stood sadly in need, though they scarcely stood in boots; no doubt, either, as to the relative sizes. The daughter required "nines" and the mother "fives." I gave them a note to