"I came straight from the factory, dear. I did not even wait for a cup of tea or to get washed. Here are some grapes for you." The grapes were best hot-house--the poor always give recklessly--and Mrs. Wilson and a bright-eyed little girl who was sweeping up scholarships and qualifying as a typist and _tisica_ would go short of food for a week. Ten years ago Mr. Wilson had grown weary of monogamy and had disappeared. His wife, scorning charity and the parish, had starved and fought her own way. Latterly she had found employment at the tooth factory, but food was not abundant on a weekly wage varying from seven to fifteen shillings, and the L.C.C. had worked the brains of the growing children on a diet chiefly of dry bread and tea. Through the long night she sat by her son--the long night of agony and suffering which she was powerless to relieve--and the nurse, who was reputed a hard woman, looked at her with tearful eyes, and muttered to herself: "Thank God, I never bore a child!" In the early hours of morning Teddy began to sing, in strange, raucous fashion, fragments of oratorios. "'My God, my God,'" sang Teddy in the recitative of Bach's Passion music, "'why hast Thou forsaken Me?' Oh, mother, don't leave me!" The next time the nurse came round Teddy lay quiet, and his mother looked up with eyes tearless and distraught. "He has stopped coughing," she said; "I think I am glad." AN IRISH CATHOLIC Godliness is great riches if a man be content with that which he hath.