“7 | ‘The picturesque crowds of the morning houre are go2ue, their
reporte accepted and food orders for the warehouse issued or
further investigation osalled for. The last straggler looking |
for food, clothing, work, anything, has passed on. The bitter
cold of the winter days is nearly gone and a hint of spring and
Ruseien
hope is in the air. We, of the Qusker office down in the
famine ares, draw long breaths and settle down to a discussion of ©
how to etretch our food a bit farther on next month's orders ;for »
we cannot yet reach all the starving even in our own ares.
But anothe® shadow drifts across thebig¢ window and a slow
shaky figure pushes open the door and stands before us, 2 ony. ues
gcarecrow, rags, face, hair, all the same dull brownish Ereyy, dull
lustreless eyes though he cannot be over twenty. in one hond he
clutches tightly a bone just picked up on the street and he enews
and
‘unches et this like a starved dog es he answers our quectioms.
"Whet is it you want?” nia
"“Brend. I will work for it."
"Do you live here?"
"No, in Caetoeneiet a village some 20 miles east but, . our
area).
"How many in your family?"
"There were five last year. I had Mother, Father and two sis=
ters. All dead now."
"But do you not get food there? We sent enough this month for
@11 in your volost who need it. Why are you not on the list?” |
*¥es, I got some corn; but I am alone and there is no work. I
came here to find work and more food.” d
