Mrs. O'Shea should nourish herself more properly, and that she should make an effort to nurse her infant. At first she refused to do so and stayed away from the depot. One of her reasons for doing this was that she was ashamed to show her child-dry, leathery and quite like a little old mummy-to the other mothers. Necessity, however, got the better of her at last and she not only came, but in sheer desperation followed the doctor's instructions carefully. The result was that in fifteen weeks Barry's condition, as shown by the record chart, leaped up from bad to perfect, where it rests today. In this way the milk depot lost a modified milk customer, but saved the life of Barry O'Shea.

What was done for Barry has been done. in the case of many other mothers. When breast feeding has been found to be impossible, as it often is, they have been taught the value of many other things; of keeping the milk cold; of feeding the babies regularlv; of throwing the deadly "pacifier" away; of peeling off the long red bands of flannel which swathe and infest the little bodies with prickly heat; of realizing that when a baby cries something is usually the matter with it; and of trying intelligently to discover what the matter is.

Twenty-nine doctors, in addition to the nurses, tell the mothers about these things.

mortality can be reduced, the need and desire for this education increases in direct ratio as we descend from the extreme rich to the extreme poor. For the wealthy mother there is always the expert specialist. For the middle class mother paid instruction must be provided, either by institutions or by itinerant teachers, of whom there is a great dearth at the present time. For the mother, handicapped by ignorance and all the evils of poverty, instruction, at least until times change, must be provided free.

In this campaign, the milk depot is of fundamental importance, as it attracts and holds women whom no individual or other agency can reach. Poorly organized depots will not meet the problem. Co-operative depots must be the rule-co-ordinating the work of doctors, nurses, milk dealers, relief societies, and all individuals and agencies interested in saving the lives of infants.

The economics of the situation thus become apparent. Many depots, supported at present by philanthropy, dabble with medicine, relief, statistics, and milk distribution, wasting much time, effort and money because of ignorance and inexperience. Take for instance the matter of selling milk

below cost. If Mrs. A. contributes $100 to a milk depot and discovers that her neighbor Mrs. B., a well-to-do woman, is obtaining for five cents a quart, a milk which is costing the milk depot fifteen cents a quart and, to obtain the loss of ten cents a quart on which, the milk depot is compelled to ask assistance from her and other contributors, naturally she is displeased. Obviously, the only right thing to do is to sell milk to Mrs. B. at a fair price. If, however, Mrs. B. can obtain milk from the depot at a fair price, every other woman in the neighborhood able similarly to pay for it, should be allowed to do so. This forces the depot to commercialize its business. Now a milk depot which keeps open only from 9 a. m. until one o'clock, as is the case with most philanthropic depots, and which is run below its maximum capacity, cannot long stay in business. In order to be self-maintaining, the depots must keep open at all times; in order to attain perfection they must have capital behind them. To maintain infants' milk depots therefore, is not a problem for philanthropists having no knowledge of milk matters, but for milk dealers co-operating with philanthropists. In every community there are progressive milk men anxious to take up new lines of

business, to accommodate the public, and to remedy conditions so far as they are able. These milk dealers must have cooperation and encouragement. Relief societies must say to them, "Here, produce this milk, modify it, sell it either in your own stores or in space which we will let you have in our settlements, hospitals, etc., and if any mother comes to you who cannot pav all or part of the price, send her to us; we will investigate the case, and if she is worthy, we will honor your bills for her supply." Contributors who support the milk hilanthropy, will then know that each cent they give is going to people who need it; that pauperism is being discouraged; that where need exists, it is being met; and that in all cases justice is being done.

Just as relief societies should co-operate with milk dealers so should milk dealers and relief societies co-operate with doctors and health authorities, in providing the medical, instructional and "follow-up" work for those mothers who patronize the stores. Connected with the distribution of milk, nurses and physicians constitute a big commercial asset, as they attract to milk depots mothers who, under other circumstances, would either fail to purchase milk or would obtain milk of an inferior grade. Almost any milk dealer could afford for the sake of this advertisement, to provide space in his store or a separate room connected with it, where doctors and nurses could carry on instructional work. Or if he did not feel that he could afford to do this, rent,

chargeable to philanthropy, could be placed upon the space or room used. Many settlements, hospitals and other institutions on the other hand, could well afford to give quarters in their buildings where milk dealers could dispense milk, thus relieving the institution of the task and placing a supply within easy reach of those whom it is wished to reach. For this co-operative arrangement there are many precedents.

In all this work, the important thing is to distinguish clearly between business and philanthropy, for only then will the money of contributors be conserved and the greatest amount of good possible be done.

Ultimately, in many cities, nurses will probably be provided by the health department. Physicians, keenly interested as they are in problems of dietetics, particularly infant feeding, will probably be willing to give their services free. Some day it is to be hoped that doctors be paid for this work, for many believe the time will come when physicians will be paid to keep people well rather than to cure them when they are ill. In different cities the plan will work out differently. But the fundamental principle of co-operation, of furnishing instruction, medical supervision and material assistance. will remain the same. No one agency, no one set of men, no one department, organization, or society, can of itself or himself solve the problem of infant mortality. All must work together, each doing his own task expertly and relying upon others for the rest. In this way only is the solution. of the problem possible.

Ethical Lessons From Froebel's Mother Play

(Continued from page 114)

sessions of the human soul is the sense of solidarity, of human relationship, of the oneness in diversity of all life-a visit to the shops is one means to this end. One store or one department will awaken the mind to one need and help to satisfy it and another counter will stir other thoughts.

The best of all gifts is symbolized in the great gift of the Christ child, the love of God manifested in human love. Lead the Lead the child to feel the universality of this conception by acquaintance with the many myths and stories common to all countries. As an aid to this end we recommend “Christmas in Many Lands and in Many Times," by Evelyn H. Walker, (fifty cents) published by Welch & Co., Chicago. It is adapted to presentation as a school entertainment, gives music and suggests costumes. In connection with this Mother Play of the toyshop we recommend Elizabeth Harrison's "Some Silent Teachers." It has a very suggestive chapter upon the visit to the shops.

The Santa Claus question has been frequently discussed in the KindergartenPrimary Magazine. By letting the child play that he is a little Santa Claus to his brothers, sisters and friends, the idea of the universal Santa Claus spirit-the spirit of love and good-will, will become familiar to him and the belief in one personal Santa Claus will take on firm hold.

THE CRIPPLE'S CHRISTMAS CAROL MARTHA REED SPAULDING

HE Lady of the Settlement House raised herself on her elbow and listened. Was that a child's sob she wondered, that low moaning of despair. It was certainly not a cry of physical pain or fear. Perhaps it had only been part of a troubled dream. She waited in a tense silence. It was past midnight. All seemed quiet on the street. The noise of the surThe heavy rumble

face cars had ceased.

of the wagons filled with country vegetables and fruits had not begun, and the milk carts were still miles away on their route to the city's thoroughfares. It was the brief hour of respite from work, from traffic, from revelry even.

"Granny, granny, just let me in; let me in!" Again came that suppressed pitiful

wail.

This was no dream. The Lady of the Settlement House leaned from the window, her eyes searching for the speaker. It was a child, almost beneath her, pressing her small body against Granny Stepniak's door, next to the settlement house. The moments of waiting for further development seemed hours, then the door was stealthily opened, the child was pulled in, and all was quiet without.

Sarah was an abandoned child, of Polish parentage. The family, returning to Russia the previous summer, had decided with little consultation, that the hunchback child was out of the question, a nuisance. Granny Stepniak must house the little one and feed her.

At the age of ten, Sarah knew all that the street could reveal. All the awful mysteries of the dark alleys had been unearthed to feed this child's mind. There was no saloon or dance hall for blocks that did not open its doors to her for the asking. Everyone recognized her shrewd, black eyes, her quaint manner, older than her years, her childish speech, her oaths and unclean words. With it all there was the voice of a young nightingale singing, not of the country and bird and flower, but every street song that could blacken and defile.

Everybody treated Sarah well, in a rough way. She was shielded many times from physical danger. Not a home in the

block would refuse to share ever so scant a meal with her. She was buffetted along in a kindly way by the big policemen, but there the arm of the law ceased to guide. The public school did not encircle her.

One morning the Lady of the Settlement House met the child in the street, and paused to question her. Sarah proved more than willing to respond to her overtures of friendship and answered her questions readily.

"Know how to read? You bet yer life You bet yer life I don't. They," pointing with her bony finger at the big institution near by, "don't like me up there. I use bad words, and don't behave myself, and they put me out. Besides, I'm a hunchback, and ache awful bad sometimes, and want to lie down somewhere. No, you can't make me go to school. "Taint no use to talk."

At this point she deftly steered the conversation away from dangerous topics. "Can I come in an' see yer tenement?" Permission accorded, she was up the steps in a moment despite her deformity. Once in the house her questions came in rapid succession. "You won't be mad if I look at them flowers, an' take one?" Then she caught sight of the canary. "Where'd yer git that yeller chicken in the cage?" All was novelty and delight to her.

Up and down the stairs of the settlement house, in and out of every room she wandered at will, darting her keen eyes into every corner, opening desk drawers, gloating with glee over long pencils, fresh pads of paper and her special delight, rubber bands, as she expressed it, "to snap at people." Soon her small feet, encased in shoes much too large for them, stopped their clatter.

"I guess I'll lie down a jiff."

Down she went on the hard floor, one arm curled under the close cropped head. The Lady of the Settlement House lifted her on to the couch, and pushed a pillow under her. Up she darted, suspiciously scanned the pillow with its fresh, white cover, and then turning her sharpened

child-face, flashed:

"Will you be mad at me if I put my head on that? Granny won't give me no pillow." Thus began an acquaintance destined to last as long as the child lived. During the next few days the Lady of the Settlement House made some discreet inquiries among the neighbors regarding her little guest.

"Don't bother with the brat. Let her alone, she runs the gang, she's a tough 'un.”

The words rang in her ears. Yet the verdict though harsh was true. Everyone dreaded the cripple's torrent of abuse; the children, young and old, shrank from her fearful outbursts of temper; for she could scratch and defend herself like a young. tigress.

The child soon repeated her visit and found a hearty welcome. Wearied with a hunt all over the house for hitherto unexplored recesses she at length fell asleep again on the couch. The Lady of the Settlement House looked anxiously at her as she lay breathing quietly, the distorted form relaxed in the kindly disguise of sleep. Here was something to appeal to, even though it was hard to see anything beyond a craving for morbid excitement, the dash of the patrol wagon, and all that went in its train.

But the aching back brought restless sleep, and soon Sarah's alert brain was again eager with questions.

"My, how clean you keep yer tenement. Granny's rooms ain't like this. Is the rent awful high here? Is it all yourn?"

The

She

On and on the questions rained. puzzled look on her face deepened. tried to put all together and make the whole a part of the small world of her own warped life.

"Say, I clean forgot then; you said I wasn't to use them words in your house. P'r'aps if yer hit me every time I'll get used ter actin' diff'rent in here-no, don't hit me, just look at me the way yer did the first time-yer kinder smiled."

"That's a queer school you've got here. yer sing pretty near all the time an' dance up an' down. Them pies yer make out o' sand an' that wet dough is more fun than a box o'monkeys. Would yer be mad if ome some more? The children in the hool won't like me, will they, "cause I'm a hunchyback?"

I

"Yes, I'll eat that banana. Give it to

me an' I'll take it out on the step, w'ere I

can watch the crowd."

Another moment and the child was gone. The street swallowed her to add to its excitement, perhaps to furnish amusement to a group of corner loiterers.

'he crowded, unsightly tenements were pouring their weary occupants into the hot streets. There was one outlet from the