"
"But I must not keep you, Mrs. Watson," Mrs. Francis
said, as she remembered the washing. "When you go downstairs
will you kindly bring me up a small red notebook that
you will find on the desk in the library?"
"Yes ma'am," said Mrs. Watson, and went heavily down the
stairs. She found the book and brought it up.
While she was making the second laborious journey down
the softly padded stairs, Mrs. Francis was making an
entry in the little red book.
Dec. 7, 1903. Talked with one woman to-day RE Beauty
of Motherhood. Recommended Dr. Parker's book. Believe
good done.
Then she closed the book with a satisfied feeling. She
was going to have a very full report for her department
at the next Annual Convention of the Society for Propagation
of Lofty Ideals.
In another part of the same Manitoba town lived John
Watson, unregenerate hater of books, his wife and their
family of nine. Their first dwelling when they had come
to Manitoba from the Ottawa Valley, thirteen years ago,
had been C. P. R. box-car No. 722, but this had soon to
be enlarged, which was done by adding to it other car-roofed
shanties. One of these was painted a bright yellow and
was a little larger than the others. It had been the
caboose of a threshing outfit that John had worked for
in '96. John was the fireman and when the boiler blew up
and John was carried home insensible the "boys" felt that
they should do something for the widow and orphans.
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