"And what you see, just a drop in the ocean of humanity. There are miles and miles of these tenements in New York--square mile after square mile, packed from cellar to attic. We have a million and a half crowded behind these grim walls on this island alone." "Surely not all so ugly and wretched as these?" "Many worse. But don't let the outside deceive you. Back of these nightmares of scorched mud, festooned with shabby clothes, are thousands of brave loving men and women, living their lives cheerfully, not asking us for pity. Even in this squalor grow beautiful, innocent girls like flowers in a muck-heap. When I see these children growing up thus into fair men and women with such sur-roundings, I know that every babe is born a child of God, not of the devil." They climbed a dark stairway and knocked at the back door of a double-decker tenement. A stout woman opened it, and they entered the tiny kitchen, so small that the table had to be pushed against the wall to pass it and the family of six could not all eat at one time because the table could not be pulled out into the room. "How is John this afternoon, Mrs. McDonald?" "We don't know, sir. The doctor's in there now. If he dies, God knows what we will do; and if he lives, a cripple, it'll be worse." The doctor called them into the front room and whispered to Gordon: "He's got to die, and I'm going to tell him. I'm glad you are here." He took the man by the hand. "Well, John, I'm sorry to say so to you, but you must know it. You can't live beyond the day." The man drew himself upon his elbow, looked at the doctor in a dazed sort of way and then at his wife holding his crying baby in her arms, the other little ones clinging to her dress, and gasped: "Did you say die? Here--now--to-day--die? And if I do, I leave my helpless ones to starve." He paused, fingering the covering nervously, shut his jaws firmly and looked at the doctor. "Almighty God! I can't die!" he growled through his teeth. "I will not die!" "No, no, you sha'n't die, John. We'll help you to live!" his wife cried. "Very well; if you keep on feeling that way you may live," said the doctor cheerfully. "We will hope for the best." Kate's eyelids drooped as she stood watching this scene as in a dream. She took the woman by the hand as she left: "I do hope he will live for your sake. I believe he will." When they reached the street, the doctor said to her: "Glad to welcome you, Miss Ransom, from the little world into the great one." "Thank you. I begin to feel I have not been in the world at all before. Will he live, do you think?" "If he holds that iron will with the grip he has on it now he'll pull through--and be a hopeless invalid for life. He will join the great army of industrial cripples--a havoc that makes war seem harmless. The wrecking corporation have already sent their lawyer and settled his case for eighty-five dollars cash: not enough to bury him. He thought it better than nothing."