A big, burly man knocked on the door of the pastor’s house one day and asked to see the minister’s wife, a woman known for her charity work and love for the poor and helpless.

The woman opened the door and saw the man with tears streaming down his face.

“Oh, whatever is the matter?” she cried out.

“I come to you today, dear woman, to do charity and good work,” said the man in a hopeless voice.

“Come in, come in!” The woman admitted him inside and they sat in her living room.

“Madam,” said the man in a broken voice, “I wish to draw your attention to the terrible plight of a poor family in this district. The father is dead, the mother is too ill to work, and the nine children are starving. They are about to be turned into the cold, empty streets unless someone pays their rent, which amounts to $400.”

“How terrible!” exclaimed the preacher’s wife. “May I ask who you are?”

The sympathetic visitor applied his handkerchief to his eyes.

“I’m the landlord,” he sobbed.