She was not punished, God forbid! but the worthy magistrate kindly committed her to my care. So I went with her to that little room ten feet by eight. I saw the wistful children almost famished, and sadly wanting clothing. I sent in food for them, and next day went again with clothing for all of them. I took them out, and bought new boots for them all, mother included. I wish that I could describe the scene in that boot-shop when the children had on their new boots. Some people might have smiled and have been amused, but I could have choked, for, God help us! it was pitiful. The younger ones were filled with joy and childish wonder. The elder boy, about eleven, looked up and down, first at his boots and then at myself; his mouth twitched. He half laughed and half cried, until I said to him, ‘How long is it since you had a new pair of boots?’ ‘I can’t remember having a pair,’ he said. But there sat the poor mother, hopeless and apathetic; the children’s joy never stirred her, nor did their wonder move her. I paid her little debts. I filled their cupboard with food. I stopped her from work. I compelled her to go out of doors. All this I could do as I continued to visit her, but no smile could I bring to her face, no hope into her heart. I got her nice clothing, but even that created no interest; there was nothing but dull, passive apathy and increasing weakness.
It was summer-time, so the children were sent into the country, and the widow accompanied my wife and myself to the seaside. Two other women went with us; both had broken down from sheer hard work and hopelessness. One was a fur-sewer, and had thrown herself in front of a train; the other a blouse-maker, who had taken laudanum. Let me picture the poor woman as I often saw her and still continue to see her in that village by the sea. She was too weak to walk, so we placed a chair for her on the sands. There she would sit hour after hour with the same hopeless, apathetic, far-away look upon her face; still and impassive she sat, save for the mysterious movements of her hands, for these were ever at work. Fourteen hours a day, seven days to the week, continued for years, had made those hands automatic, and they would make match-boxes in spite of her. Nature had its pound of flesh! still oxygen, rest, good food, did much for her, and human sympathy helped by-and-by to cheer her. After a month she returned to her little room, to her children four, and to her match-boxes; but not to fourteen hours a day, not to seven days a week. I reduced her ‘stint’ to seven hours per day and six days per week. For four years I paid her rent and clothed the children, until her eldest boy was placed in a situation, and was able to help his mother. Reluctantly I then let her go, for new and fresh demands are ever made upon me. Still, she was not entirely forgotten, and a little help was sent her from time to time.