They find insensibly the grime washed away by these pure drops, their hands are less inclined to clasp round murderous weepons and turn them towards the lofty abodes of the rich.
They do not hate the rich so badly, for it is a rich man who has done all this for them.
The high walls of the prison that used to loom up so hugely and threatingly in front of the bare old tenement housen--the harsh glare of them walls seem further away, hidden from them by the gracious green of the blossoming trees.
The sunshine lays between them and its rough walls--they follow the glint of the sunbeams up into the Heavens..