"I cannot but think, dear Sofía, that you are unreasonably devoted to the little dog. To be sure a dog that cost two hundred duros, is indeed a dog among dogs. Still, I cannot but ask myself how it is that you have spent time and money in making a great-coat for his highness the terrier, while it has never occurred to you to buy a pair of shoes for Nela."
"Shoes for Nela!" exclaimed Sofía laughing. "What for, I should like to know. She would have worn them through in two days. You may laugh at me as much as you please—well, I admit that my affection for Líli amounts to an extravagance; still, you cannot accuse me of want of charity.—Nor indeed, I must say, should I ever allow you to take such a liberty," and as she spoke she drew herself up with a solemn look of offended dignity. "As to knowing how to exercise charity with due prudence and judgment, I believe I may hold my own with any one, be it whom it may—for charity does not consist merely in giving without rhyme or reason, not knowing whether your alms are well or ill-bestowed. Do you suppose you can teach me anything? My dear Teodoro, I am quite as experienced in such matters as you are in the treatment of eyes."
"I know, I know, my dear.—You have done wonders. You need not tell me for the fiftieth time of all the dramatic entertainments, balls and bull-fights, you have got up for the benefit of the poor, nor of the lotteries, which have brought in large sums; though, after providing food for any number of idle vagabonds, there has been but a small fraction left for the sick and suffering! All these facts only go to prove to my mind the singular state of a society, which cannot be charitable without dancing, bull-fights or lottery tickets.—No, we need not discuss all that; I know and admire those heroic achievements; they have their good side, and that not a small one. But you and your gay friends very rarely put yourself in connection with any poor soul, to learn from his own lips the cause and history of his misery, or to discern what kind of wretchedness it is that oppresses him—for there are, actually, some troubles so extraordinary that the gift of a few coppers can do nothing to alleviate them, no, nor even a morsel of bread."
"Here we have our philosopher well astride on his hobby," said Sofía spitefully. "Pray how do you know what I have ever done, or what I ought to do?"
"Nay, do not be vexed," said Golfin; "for all my discourse tends to a single point, and that is that Nela should have shoes."
"Very well, then to-morrow morning I will buy her a pair."
"No—for I will buy them myself this evening. Do not poach on my preserves, Señora."
"Here—Nela," cried the lady, seeing that she had gone some distance ahead. "Do not go so fast; keep in sight that I may see what you are about."
"Poor little creature!" said her husband. "Who could guess she was sixteen years old!"
"She is dreadfully stunted, miserable little thing!" exclaimed Sofía. "I cannot help asking, why God should permit such creatures to live? And again I ask myself, what in the world can be done for her? Nothing—nothing, but to feed and clothe her after a fashion—but you see, she tears everything she puts on. She cannot labor because she faints away—she has not strength enough to do any kind of work. She skips from stone to stone, or climbs the trees, playing and chattering the whole day long and singing like the birds; what clothes she has are soon reduced to rags...."