After the school closed, Edith, guided by the child, made her way to the Briar st. mission-house.  As she entered the narrow street in which it was situated, the aspect of things was so strange and shocking to her eyes that she felt a chill creep to her heart.  She had never imagined anything so forlorn and squalid, so wretched and comfortless.  Miserable little hovels, many of them no better than pig-styes, and hardly cleaner within, were crowded together in all stages of dilapidation.  Windows with scarcely a pane of glass, the chilly air kept out by old hats, bits of carpet or wads of newspaper, could be seen on all sides, with here and there, showing some remains of an orderly habit, a broken pane closed with a smooth piece of paper pasted to the sash.  Instinctively she paused, oppressed by a sense of fear.

“It’s only halfway down,” said the child.  “We’ll ’go quick.  I guess nobody’ll speak to you.  They’re afraid of Mr. Paulding about here.  He’s down on ’em if they meddle with anybody that’s coming to the mission.”

Edith, thus urged, moved on.  She had gone but a few steps when two men came in sight, advancing toward her.  They were of the class to be seen at all times in that region—­debased to the lowest degree, drunken, ragged, bloated, evil-eyed, capable of any wicked thing.  They were singing when they came in sight, but checked their drunken mirth as soon as they saw Edith, whose heart sunk again.  She stopped, trembling.

“They’re only drunk,” said the child.  “I don’t believe they’ll hurt you.”

Edith rallied herself and walked on, the men coming closer and closer.  She saw them look at each other with leering eyes, and then at her in a way that made her shiver.  When only a few paces distant, they paused, and with the evident intention of barring her farther progress.

“Good-afternoon, miss,” said one of them, with a low bow.  “Can we do anything for you?”

The pale, frightened face of Edith was noticed by the other, and it touched some remnant of manhood not yet wholly extinguished.

“Let her alone, you miserable cuss!” he cried, and giving his drunken companion a shove, sent him staggering across the street.  This made the way clear, and Edith sprang forward, but she had gone only a few feet when she came face to face with another obstruction even more frightful, if possible, than the first.  A woman with a red, swollen visage, black eye, soiled, tattered, drunk, with arms wildly extended, came rushing up to her.  The child gave a scream.  The wretched creature caught at a shawl worn by Edith, and was dragging it from her shoulders, when the door of one of the houses flew open, and a woman came out hastily.  Grasping the assailant, she hurled her across the street with the strength of a giant.

“We’re going to the mission,” said the child.

“It’s just down there.  Go ’long.  I’ll stand here and see that no one meddles with you again.”