remembering those days of her struggle, the days when her chil-dren were small.. the days when they were three around her.

There came back to her memory the day her eldest son was ten years old, the day he climbed the low wall and dropped into the garden of their neighbor, the well-to-do doctor. She paid the matter no great heed, but when she heard shouting she ran to the garden through the main gate to see what had happened, and found her son standing red-faced, bright-eyed, before the doctor and his weeping boy, and at their feet, on the soft grass, a toy train with its cars scattered.. She looked at the doctor and his boy, then at her own son, questioning, and the doctor shouted in anger: "He wanted to steal my son's train from him. Don't you know how to teach him honesty and truthfulness? Take him out of here before I strike him!" She swallowed hard and looked at her son in helpless confusion; he clenched his fists violently, his face redder still, and screamed through his tears: "I didn't steal his train — I only wanted to help him run it. I never want to come into this ugly garden again, or see either of you — I hate you both, and I hate your toys and your house!"... Then he tore away running, and she ran after him, afraid; and at home she shook him and struck him, teaching him not to raise his voice before those older than himself. He fled to a corner of the room and looked at her with bewildered, unbelieving eyes and cried in a hoarse voice: "Do you too think I wanted to steal his train, Mother? I only wanted to touch it and play with it! I wish he would die, he and his son. I don't care for her or for her car or for the things and toys he buys his son! I will work, and I will buy for you and me and my brother and sister clothes and toys enough to fill this house. I hate him, and I hate his father and his mother

and everything!!" She knelt before him, taking his head in her arms, and wept; and he wrapped his arms about her, whispering tenderly: "Don't cry, Mama. I'll work to help you. I'll buy you dresses prettier than his mother's, and when I'm big I won't let you work, and I'll buy us a beautiful house bigger than theirs."..

No warning voice rang in her ear then, nor after he began coming home to her

with coins and things — here a shirt from the clothes-seller whose small boy he walked with him to school, a cluster of grapes or apples from the fruit-seller for whom he worked half an hour after school. She kept silent, wondering; and one day the thing appalled her, and she found herself refusing that her son be given food and clothes like some poor waif on whom kindly shopkeepers take pity, even if he worked for them. So she asked him to take her to those two sellers so she might speak to them about him; he grew confused and

Superfluous Hair "Mars" Your Skin (Veet)

Superfluous hair "mars" your skin

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The elegant woman keeps her legs pure and smooth thanks to her use of "Veet" cream