“There is a great deal of illness about, and that keeps some of them at home. The people are terribly poor. I wish I could persuade some of the better class people about to give me orders for dinners for the poor people. It would cost so little, and I would be very careful to give it to those who most needed it. I ask this of everyone who happens to come in to see the children at work, but except for a chance order now and then, it is very difficult to get rid of the food.” “Who buys the things that the children make?” asked Marion. “The children are supposed to buy the things themselves; and they generally do buy rock cakes and gingerbread and things that are of no practical use to them. But more sensible dishes, such as stews and soup, are very difficult to sell without outside help. There are one or two people in some workmen’s buildings just near who buy from time to time, and when the beef-tea lesson comes round, the vicar is very kind in buying it for anyone who is sick. It is very difficult to get along sometimes,” added Jane, gazing dolefully into the depths of the fire. “I was just thinking,” said Ada meditatively, after a minute or two’s thought; “I was just thinking if there was no one to whom we could mention the matter, who would be glad to help. Of course, one can understand that there are certain objections. For instance, if it became widely known that food was given away at the cookery school, people would be always coming in to beg, and it would be very inconvenient. Besides, there would be so much jealousy amongst those who did not get it, and it would be impossible to satisfy all. But I should think a few private orders might be managed, and they would certainly be a great help to you, Jennie, and if you told the people who came for dinners not to mention it to others, I should think it would be all right.” “They would not do that, I am sure,” said Jane. “They do not like it known that they are taking charity, unless it is some widely recognised institution like a soup-kitchen. I have often noticed that.” “There are the Baddeleys, now; they live near your school in Warrington Road. Do you ever see them?” “No; I had forgotten about them. I do not think they know that I teach up there. I will write to-night and ask them to come and see me.” “I will write,” said Ada, patting her sister’s nut-brown head, “you are so tired.” “The wind has made my eyes ache.” So Ada wrote to Mrs. Baddeley, knowing her to be a philanthropic woman, and her appeal was warmly answered. Mrs. Baddeley called to see Jane at her school two days after, to her great delight. The lady in question was an old friend of their mother’s, but they had not seen her for some time. She had heard that the girls had come to live in London, but had not yet been to see them, and she had had no idea that Jane was teaching so near to her.