“By no means--God forbid! I refer to your bran-bread philosophers, who ride hobbies about the country; men who have theories, who believe in fantastic communities, free-love brothels, and other abominations; men who strain at a gnat and swallow a camel; in a word, men who can do nothing for the poor and needy until society is reformed--until our social and political institutions have been remodelled. Dick, I propose to go to work in my own sphere. I am not going to upset the world, and throw the machinery of society out of gear. Now, to our four thousand poor in Poppleton. They are not beggars. Most of them earn enough to live on. They work in the factories, go to sea, and job about the two villages. A large portion of them are vicious, immoral, and irreligious.” “And you propose to build a church and establish a Sunday school for them.” “I don’t propose anything of the sort,” replied Eugene, impatiently. The boat had been put about again, and was now off The Little Bell. “What kind of an institution do you propose?” “No institution whatever. These people live in poor, mean houses, crowded together like sheep in a pen, surrounded by filth, and unvisited by the pure air of heaven. These causes alone are quite sufficient to make them vicious and immoral. I propose to strike at the root of the evil. In a word, my first work shall be with the homes of the poor. I shall quietly purchase one or two of these tumble-down old houses, clear them off, and build upon the sites suitable dwellings for the poor--such as can be afforded at a cheap rent.” “Model houses, you mean.” “I hate even the cant of calling them model houses. I don’t intend to let them rent free, but to have the occupants independent while they are comfortably lodged. When we return to the Port, I will show you where I mean to begin.” “I am all interest, Hungerford, but I see some difficulties. For instance, who will collect these rents?” “I should employ a man for that purpose.” These difficulties were discussed at length, till the sail boat passed the light on The Great Bell. “Boat ahoy!” shouted Mr. Eliot Buckstone. “There’s a craft in distress,” said Dick Birch. “There’s a woman in it.” “I see there is,” replied Eugene, as he put the helm down. “Give the jib-sheet a pull, Dick.” The sail boat was now headed towards the disabled craft. Eugene tried to make out the person who had appealed to him, but he was a stranger. “Young and pretty,” said Dick, as the sail boat rounded to alongside the other boat. “It is Miss Kingman!” exclaimed Eugene, not a little puzzled to account for the circumstances under which she happened to be in a boat with a stranger at this distance from the shore. “Who is Miss Kingman?” “Her father lives in the house on The Great Bell.” “Ah, indeed!” “Could you oblige me with the use of a pair of oars?” asked Mr. Buckstone, holding on to the sailing craft to keep the two boats together.