“Yes, papa,” said Dora, looking sympathetically at the unfortunate woman, “call me if you want me.” The shoemaker looked at Dora, then in her girlish grace and purity, and then at the poor creature on the bench, and held out his arm to Dora. “Come here, mein child. Kiss de fader. If anyt’ing shall efer happen to you, mein daughter--dot vould kill your fader!” “But nothing--like this--will ever happen to me, father,” said Dora, kissing him fondly and smiling at him bravely. “Dot’s de mudder’s eyes looking at me, Dora--de eyes of your mudder, vot is now dead--there,” he added, with a sob, “run along mit Loney and play pinochle.” Dora and Loney ran out of the shop, smiling back at the shoemaker, who turned to the now weeping woman, saying: “They have gone now.” “What I have to say will not take long. I was a wife--an honest wife. My husband deserted me for another woman, robbed me of my child and left me to die alone. He had taught me to take an occasional drink, saying that my health required it. In my trouble I turned to it, and before I realized it--well--it has brought me to this.” “Vell, don’t you t’ink it has brought you far enough? If you go much farder you vill fall ofer. Vy don’t you quit?” “Look at me,” said Helen, showing her shaking hand. “See my hand shaking like an aspen. I am all but dead, and the craving for that awful stuff is eating out my vitals. Quit! Quit! Don’t you see it is too late, too late!” “Vy are you talking--it is only half-past eight. Look, mein poor vomans. Read you dot sign of mein.” Saying these last words, the poor shoemaker pointed to an illuminated card hung against the wall, and Helen slowly rose and looked at it, reading aloud: “It is never too late to mend.” “Dot’s right. It is nefer too late to mend an olt shoe, nor der human heart--neider von.” [Illustration: “IT’S NEVER TOO LATE TO MEND”] “Do you think that is true, Mister? Is there any hope for a battered wreck like me?” “As true dot ve stant here lifing, dere is always hope, always. Dit not Gott pring vater for Israel from der dry rock of Horeb? Dit Gott not sent quail in der vilderness? Is Gott’s great arm come veak? No, it is yust so strong as effer it vos. Vot you vant is to go far from here and pegin all ofer again vere no one knows you. Here is death, dere is safeness, hope, a new life--a petter von.” “How am I to get there? All I have are these few rags, this shattered body, and the fragments of a woman’s broken heart.” As the poor creature sobbed out these words, Loney came quietly into the room, and as he heard them the child knelt silently behind the bench and folded his thin hands in prayer unobserved. Morris stood a moment silent, and then he said, solemnly: “In the name of my dead vife, and of mein lifing child, I vill help you to go, if you vill promise me dot you will nefer drink again.”