"
"You were a child then, my dear; you're a woman now. That girl is the
daughter of the poor fellow--"
"Sam Kimper?--that you and father talk of so frequently? Yes, I know;
she was a horrid little thing in school, two classes below me. But,
mother, I don't see why we ought to recognize her just because her
father has been in the penitentiary and behaved himself since he came
back."
"Because she _needs_ recognition, dear child; because she gets it from
plenty of people of her own class, and if she has it from no others she
never will be any better than she is; perhaps she will become worse."
"Oh, mother!" exclaimed Eleanor, with a toss of her handsome head,
"such people never change. There were plenty of such girls in the same
class with me in the public school, and they've all gone off and
married common low fellows. Some of them were real pretty girls while
they were young, too."
"All the more reason why others of the same kind should have some
encouragement to do better, my child."
"But, mother," persisted Eleanor, "what possible good will it do that
Kimper girl for us merely to recognize her in the street?"
"You may do as much more for her as you choose, if you think mere
courtesy is not enough. Eleanor, you are a healthy, happy girl; you
know--and I remember--all a girl's natural fancies and longings.
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