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 the poverty-stricken room, and then through the window to the filthy street beyond.

"I wonder sometimes," he growled, "why the women don't strike—chuck the whole thing. What can be the good of it from their point of view?"

The idea had more than once occurred to Mrs. Plumberry herself, so that she was not as shocked as perhaps she should have been.

"Oh, some of them get on," she answered philosophically. "Each woman thinks it will be her brat who will climb upon the backs of the others and that that's all the others are wanted for."

"Maybe," agreed the young doctor. He closed the door softly behind him.

Mrs. Plumberry waited till the woman on the bed opened her large eyes, then she put the child into her arms.

"Get all you can in case it don't last long," was Mrs. Plumberry's advice to him as she arranged the bed-clothes. The child gave a grunt of acquiescence and settled himself to his work.

"I prayed it might be a boy," whispered the woman. "He'll be able to help in the workshop."

"It never does any harm," agreed Mrs. Plumberry. "Sometimes you get answered. And if you don't, there's always the feeling that you've