Look at the people 'round us here--livin' in this here row of tenements--drinkin', lying' swearin'.

What chance had Tom?
God never give him any, but He could of, if He'd had a mind to.

So I can't love Him, Mrs.Ward,--I can't love Him; Him havin' all the power, and yet lettin' Tom's soul go down to hell; fer Tom couldn't help it, and him livin' so.

I ain't denyin' religion, ner anything like that--I'm a Christian woman, an' a member--but I can't love Him, so there's no use talkin'-- I can't love Him." She turned away and shook the shirt out, hanging it over the back of a chair in front of the stove, to dry.

Helen had followed her, and put her arm across the thin, bent shoulders, her eyes full of tears, though the widow's were hard and bright.
"Oh, Mrs.Davis," she cried, "of course you could not love a God who would never give Tom a chance and then punish him; of course you could not love Him! But he is not punished by being sent to hell; indeed, indeed, he is not.