Mrs. Cluff's Deliverance from Despair

“The door opened slowly, cautiously. A little girl, clad all in white, stood upon the threshold. She extended a tissue wrapped package, as the sunshine danced in her brown curls, 'Mama sent you this,' she dimpled, and smiled at the baby. 'Ain't yer come ter the wrong house?' Mrs. Cluff was dubious. She was unaccustomed to gifts in tissue paper. 'O no, I haven't.' The child was playing peek-aboo with the gurgling baby. 'We live in the brown house around the corner. Mama said she wanted you to have something real pretty for Easter Sunday.' Mrs. Cluff's fingers trembled as she untied the pale blue ribbon. In the folds of the crisp, new paper lay a dozen daffodils—their stems still touched with soil, their deep cups still heavy with dew. NEW! Tender, fragrant flowers, and new! Picked expressly for her. Under the flowers lay a ten dollar bill, also crisp and new. 'Mama said you might need something for your children for Easter,' continued the child, 'and you could buy better for them than she could.'... Mrs. Cluff shuddered convulsively. She no longer wanted sleeping powders—she wanted to rear her own children. She stood transfixed, crushing the flowers against her bosom. 'Rich with babies!' the child had said. Never had the Cluff brood seemed an asset before. — The Young Woman's Journal 35:4”