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Riis, Jacob A., 1849-1914

"The Making of an American"


It was never the proper business of the police to dispense charity.
They have their hands full with repressing crime. It is the mixing of
the two that confuses standards and makes trouble without end for
those who receive the "charity," and even more for those who dispense
it. You cannot pervert the first and finest of human instincts
without corrupting men: witness my sergeant in Church Street and
his Chicago brother.


CHAPTER X
MY DOG IS AVENGED

THE lilacs blossom under my window, as I begin this chapter, and
the bees are humming among them; the sweet smell of wild cherry
comes up from the garden where the sunlight lies upon the young
grass. Robin and oriole call to their mates in the trees. There upon
the lawn is Elisabeth tending some linen laid out to dry. Her form
is as lithe and her step as light as in the days I have written
about, grandmother as she is. I can see, though her back is turned,
the look of affectionate pride with which she surveys our home, for
I know well enough what she is thinking of. And so it has been; a
blessed, good home; how could it help being that with her in it?
They say it is a sign one is growing old when one's thoughts dwell
much on the past.


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