Mrs. Ogden went over to her bureau and began rummaging in a drawer; at last she found what she was looking for. "These worsted vests must go to the Robinsons to-day," she declared. "That eldest girl of theirs must put one on at once; with her tendency to bronchitis, she's an absolute candidate for influenza." Joan made a sound of impatience. "But, Mother, you know the girl hates having wool next her skin; she says it makes her itch; she'll never wear them." "Oh, but she _must_; you'll have to see her mother and tell her I sent you; it's nonsense about wool making the skin irritate." "I don't agree with you; lots of people can't wear it. I can't myself, and, besides, the Robinsons don't want our charity." "The poor always need charity, my dear." "But they're not poor; they're probably better off than we are, or they ought to be, considering what that family earned during the war." "I can't help what they earned in war-time, Joan; they're poor enough now; everyone is, with all the unemployment." "I daresay, only they don't happen to be unemployed." "I expect they will be soon," said Mrs. Ogden with ghoulish optimism. Joan sighed; this task of thrusting herself on people who did not want her was one of the trials of life. For many years she had refused to be a district visitor, but lately this too had been one of the duties that her mother's increasing age imposed upon her. Mrs. Ogden worried herself ill if she thought that her share in this all-important work was being neglected, so Joan had given in. She stretched out her hand for the vests. "How they must hate us," she said thoughtfully. Mrs. Ogden took off her spectacles. "They? Who?" "Only the poor Poor." "You are a strange girl, Joan. I don't understand half the time what you're talking about, and I don't think you do yourself." "Perhaps not!" Joan's voice was rather sharp; she wished her mother would not speak of her as a "girl," it was ridiculous and embarrassing. At times this and equally trifling irritations made her feel as though she could scream. "Give me the idiotic things!" she said angrily, snatching up the vests; "I'll take them, if you make me, but they'll only throw them away." Mrs. Ogden appeared not to hear her; she had become slightly deaf in one ear lately, a fact which she had quickly discovered could be used to her own advantage. "Bring in some muffins for tea, darling," she called after Joan's retreating figure. 2 Joan strode along the esplanade on her way to the Robinsons' cottage. Anger lent vigour to her every movement; she felt almost young again under its stimulus. This useless errand on which she had been sent! Just as though the Robinsons didn't know how to dress themselves. The eldest girl, about whom her mother was so anxious, wore far smarter clothes at church than Joan could afford, and, in any case, why should the poor thing be doomed to a perpetual rash because Mrs. Ogden wanted a peg on which to hang her charity?