by one such meal. The poor are saved by the invigorating effect of labour in the open air—when they are saved—but sickness and death often ensue.
"Among all our benevolent societies, I wish there was one for teaching the poor the arts of health—to begin with cooking well plain food. Why, if our poor knew how to manage their means of health and comfort, they might live as if they were in paradise. A sound mind in a sound body will make almost a paradise even of this rough-going world."
"I should think so, sir," said Charlotte, with a sigh; "but," she added, modestly, "I hope, doc"tor, you do not think we live at home in the way you have described?"
"Oh no, my child, certainly not, by no means."
"Indeed, we do not, sir; though I was only thirteen, and my little sister, our Susy, nine, when mother died, she had taught us to make her good bread. I mixed it, and Susy, a strong child, kneaded it: we always calculate to have light bread and good butter. We always have meat, for father thinks he can't do without it three times a day. Susy is a hearty eater, too—my appetite is poor, but our neighbours are very considerate, and seldom without pie, or cake, or preserves, or something relishing. You smile, sir—I don't wish to have you think we live daintily—I don't know how it is in cities, but country people are thoughtful of one another, and any one out of health has such things sent in."
"Pies, cakes, and preserves?"
"Yes, sir; things that taste pleasant, and are kind of nourishing."
