She thought it one of the greatest privileges of her life to be permitted to scatter flowers by the wayside of life.

Other women might write beautiful poems; she did more.

She made her life a thing of brightness and beauty.
* * * * * "Do you think she will die ?" said Belle Gordon, bending tenderly over a pale and fainting woman, whose face in spite of its attenuation showed traces of great beauty.
"Not if she is properly cared for; she has fainted from exhaustion brought on by overwork and want of proper food." Tears gathered in the eyes of Belle Gordon as she lifted the beautiful head upon her lap and chafed the pale hands to bring back warmth and circulation.
"Let her be removed to her home as soon as possible," said the doctor.
"The air is too heavy and damp for her." "I wonder where she lives," said Belle thoughtfully, scanning her face, as the features began to show[4] returning animation.
"Round the corner," said an urchin, "she's Joe Cough's wife.

I seed her going down the street with a great big bundle, and Mam said, she looked like she was going to topple over." "Where is her husband ?" "I don't know, I 'spec he's down to Jim Green's saloon." "What does he do ?" "He don't do nothing, but Mam says she works awful hard.

Come this way," said he with a quickness gathered by his constant contact with street life.
Up two flights of rickety stairs they carried the wasted form of Mary Gough, and laid her tenderly upon a clean but very poor bed.