the fabulous sum it had cost us.

It appears that he paid sixteen soldi only. "What could they do when a man
was in misery? I had nothing else."

Even while thus betraying his poverty, the Mouse did not beg, and we began
to respect his poverty. In a little while we pitied it, witnessing the
manner in which he sat down on the edge of a chair, with a smile of meek
desperation.

It is a more serious case when an artisan is out of work in the Old World
than one can understand in the New. There the struggle for bread is so
fierce and the competition so great; and, then, a man bred to one trade
cannot turn his hand to another as in America. Even the rudest and least
skilled labor has more to do it than are wanted. The Italians are very
good to the poor, but the tradesman out of work must become a beggar
before charity can help him.

We, who are poor enough to be wise, consult foolishly together concerning
the Mouse. It blesses him that gives, and him that takes--this business of
charity. And then, there is something irresistibly relishing and splendid
in the consciousness of being the instrument of a special providence! Have
I all my life admired those beneficent characters in novels and comedies
who rescue innocence, succor distress, and go about pressing gold into the
palm of poverty, and telling it to take it and be happy; and now shall I
reject an occasion, made to my hand, for emulating them in real life?

"I think I will give the Mouse five francs," I say.

"Yes, certainly."