"There happened to be a vacancy in the ironing room just then--far too heavy work for a delicate woman!--but the rate of pay is higher there, so, pluckily, she took it on. She kept this a secret from her husband and gave the latter to understand it was just a matter of light mending, without dangerous exertion. And in this way she earned enough to keep them afloat to the end of the strike. Then she collapsed--broke down utterly!--and her baby was born, before its time. The baker nearly went off his head when the true story leaked out. To think of her, with those heavy irons, on her feet all day in the heat and steam! ... I call her a real heroine." Jill's gray eyes flashed as she spoke, then softened as she added, sadly: "But the baby died. It hadn't a chance, so the doctor said, and she was so ill. Now she's simply broken-hearted at losing it and can't pick up. I heard about it from our charwoman and promised to go and see her to-day. I must, Peter." Her voice was firm. "You won't mind if I call there first?" "Of course not----" said McTaggart gravely. He felt a trifle taken aback by this pitiful, sordid chapter of life from the lips of his little friend: a man's discomfort, too, at the thought of her youthful knowledge of matters he deemed better kept from her awhile. He realised with sudden force the outlook, purely practical, of the growing generation of girls. Healthy, but somewhat startling too, this determination to face the facts of life in defiance of old traditions. Jill still sat there, chin on hands, absorbed in the problem offered to her by this contrast in the life of the poor with that of the well-to-do around him. Serenely devoid of self-consciousness she looked up suddenly at McTaggart, meeting the kindly blue eyes with a faint trouble in their depths. "I wish these strikes could be avoided. They seem to bring such misery. I can't understand life at all!--the hopeless suffering involved..." Her voice held a note of rebellion. "Everyone seems to be fighting hard, not for the present but the future--for something they'll never live to see!--ruining their own lives meanwhile. Supposing these strikers get their way--higher wages and all that--" she waved her hand with a broad gesture--"D'you think the generations ahead will be contented in their turn? Or will they be fighting for more, too? I don't see any end to it!" "Well, I wouldn't worry if I were you," McTaggart nodded his head wisely. "I expect it's always been the same. It's what we're pleased to call 'Progress'. "I think your plan's the best, my dear. To help and comfort where you can; and leave the larger questions alone for those who have really studied the matter. "We'll go and see the baker's wife, and--can't we take her something, Jill? Food--or money? what d'you think?" "Not money!" Jill winced. "They aren't really paupers, you know. It's so easy to hurt the pride of the poor--the _working_ poor. We might get her some flowers."