At this instant Max, whose attention had been drawn for a moment to some article in the show-window of a store near at hand, joined his sister, and with her listened to the girl’s reply.
“Just down that alley yonder, Number five,” she said. “It’s but a poor place we have; a little bare attic room, but—but we try to be content with it, because it’s the best we can do.”
“What is it she wants?” Max asked, in a low aside to Lulu.
“Sewing. I’m going to ask Mamma Vi and Grandma Elsie if they can find some for her. But we’ll have to know where she can be found. Shall we go with her to her home?”
“No; papa would not approve, I think. But I’ll write down the address, and I’m sure papa will see that they’re relieved, if they need help.”
Turning to the girl again, as he took notebook and pencil from his pocket, “What is the name of the alley?” he asked.
“Rose,” she answered, adding, with a melancholy smile, “though there’s nothing rosy about it except the name; it’s narrow and dirty, and the people are poor, many of them beggars, drunken, and quarrelsome.”
“How dreadful to have to live in such a place!” exclaimed Lulu, looking compassionately at the speaker.
“Rose Alley,” murmured Max, jotting it down in his book, “just out of State Street. What number?”
“Number five, sir; and it’s between Fourth and Fifth.”