The Birmingham age-herald., 1920-10-10

Mary sells pencils as a camouflage for begging. or. rather, she did.
 Her place of business is near popular confectionery shop and Mary is not her real name. To give her name would be unjust, since begging is her profession from compulsion rather than choice. Birmingham peo- pie have been seeing her there every day for six weeks.
 Mary is the inmate of a home which is truly Dickensesque. What lies behind the wistful eyes of this ten year-oid, with body undergrown and twisted from the devastations of the infant plague. is a revelation.
 Indeed what forces mold the lives of the great army of beggars which infest the streets of Birmingham IS often matter of conjecture in cir cles where the elite gather with the fortunate to discuss sneeringly the problems, fortunes and mi9fortunes of the municipality
 In company with Mrs. l-lndley Brown, officer of the city department of relief and correction, take walk with this little bit of human drift wood and peep into the nome whtch is her only shelter
 The kindly Mrs. Brown fortified with a glas of ice cream soda and the air of well-being which hangs about this shop, where the well-oH and the would -be-well- of foregather. was coming out of the shop Satur- day, when glancing down she hap pened to meet the gaze of two pairs of wistful eyes They belonged to Mary and her six-year-old sister.
 Buy a pencil lady? Here's a pret- tv pink one" Mary summoned her brayest. most pitful smile to her as sistance.
 Buy pencil, lady" echoed little sister. Mrs. Brown fixed the pair with gaze which is kindly but firm, like a teachers.
 Where do you little girls live. and where are your mother and father? The smallest girl was tongue-tied. She looked in utter amazement at the stranger. Marys expressive eyes gazed up the street. down the street, around, anywhere hut~at Mrs Brown. we haven't got any folks: they is dead, just me" then happening to catch the accusing eyes of her in quisitor-''theS home sick. she. finished lamely. blushing to the roots of her hair Home and sick? Let's go home and see how they are getting along, suggested the officer.
 "Oh no. ma am, cant; it's still morning vet and this is Saturday. just can't go home.'
 The smaller girl began to cry. II don't want to go home; I don't want to go home. I don't want to see him; 1 ain't got any nickels and dimes"
 Well would you rather go to jail and tell the policemen about it?'
 X little coercion was all that was necessary Mary pulled herself to a standing posture with the aid of two stout crutches and. dragging one foot while the other was only partially useful, she hobbled up the street.
 Arrived at the, hovel, which is sit uated on the tidewater line where the flood of the city's prosperity filings up the driftwpod and hideosi- ties of poverty to bleach on the out skirts ol the domain of business. Marys two little crutches thumped up the steps.
 Before the group could reach the door, however, it was flung open by woman in red-flowered kimono,
  less and in his shirt sleeves.
 The two little ones shrank away mad the smaller girl whimpered like a small dog pleading to be spared blow.
 What the h. The woman saw Mrs. Brown just in time to stop her tirade and her husband faded away into the dark room behind him.
 HWhy are you allowing these children to beg on the streets in stead of going out for an honest living?" demanded the officer of the law.
 ''I have to stay home with the younger children and my husband is very sick"
 "Humm; let's see" Mrs. Brown pushed her way into the room and looked the head of the house over Yes, temperature normal, pulse