ts and decaying cabbage leaves, in a not very clean alley,
where the sun rarely shines, and briefly then, with the thermometer
well up, on a summer day, altogether make an atmosphere not suited to
delicate senses. Pitt picked the way along the narrow passage, which at
the end opened into a little court. This was somewhat cleaner than the
alley; also it lay so that the sun sometimes visited it, though here
too his visits could be but brief, for on the opposite side the court
was shut in and overshadowed by the tall backs of great houses. They
seemed, to Betty's fancy, to cast as much moral as physical shadow over
the place. The houses in this court were small and dingy. If one looked
straight up, there was a space of grey cloud visible; some days it
would no doubt be a space of blue sky. No other thing even dimly
suggesting refreshment or purity was within the range of vision. Pitt
slowly paced along the row of houses.

'Who lives here?' Betty asked, partly to relieve the oppression that
was creeping upon her.

'No householders, that I know of. People who live in one room, or
perhaps in two rooms; therefore in every house there are a number of
families. This is Martin's court. And _here_,'--he stopped before one
of the doors,--'in this house, in a room on the third floor--let me
suppose a case'--

'Third floor? why, there are only two stories.'

'In the garret, then,--there lives an old woman, over seventy years
old, all alone. She has been ill for a long time, and suffers a great
deal of pain.'

'Who takes care of her?' Betty asked, wondering at the same time why
Pitt told her all this.

'She has no means to pay anybody to take care of her.'

'But how does she _live?_--if she cannot do anything for herself.'

'She can do nothing at all for herself. She has been dependent on the
kindness of her neighbours. They are poor, too, and have their hands
full; still, from time to time one and another would look in upon her,
light a fire for her, and give her something to eat; that is, when they
did not forget it.'

'And what if they did forget it?'

'Then she must wait till somebody remembered; wait perhaps days, to get
her bed made; lie alone in her pain all day, except for those rare
visits; and even have to hire a boy with a penny to bring her a pitcher
of water; lie alone all night and wait in the morning till somebody
could give her her breakfast.'

'Why do you tell me all this, Mr. Pitt?' said Betty, facing r