"Look over in that back alley," said her aunt. "You see those buildings?"
"That miserable row of shanties? Yes."
"Well, I have several acquaintances there who have never been tired of Christmas gifts, or gifts of any other kind. I assure you, you could make quite a sensation over there."
"Well, who is there? Let us know."
"Do you remember Owen, that used to make your shoes?"
"Yes, I remember something about him."
"Well, he has fallen into a consumption, and cannot work any more; and he, and his wife, and three little children live in one of the rooms."
"How do they get along?"
"His wife takes in sewing sometimes, and sometimes goes out washing. Poor Owen! I was over there yesterday; he looks thin and wasted, and his wife was saying that he was parched with constant fever, and had very little appetite. She had, with great self-denial, and by restricting herself almost of necessary food, got him two or three oranges; and the poor fellow seemed so eager after them!"
"Poor fellow!" said Eleanor, involuntarily.