290 THE BED MOUNTAIN OF ALASKA. 
"You seem to be really suffering with the cold, my 
friend/' he said, in such gentle tones that his " learned 
brothers upon the other side " would not have recognized 
it ; " and that's a little too bad for Christmas Eve." 
" Christmas ! Christmas ! " shivered the man, with a 
little moan, wringing his thin hands, " what is that to 
me ! What is that to a man whose wife is dying for 
want of tender nursing and wholesome food ? — whose 
children are growing up to a life of misery and degrada- 
tion ? — whose own happiness is gone, gone so long ago 
that he has forgotten the feeling of it ?" 
Mr. Broadstreet patted the shoulder gently. " Come, 
come," he said, trying to speak cheerily, " it isn't so bad 
as that, you know. Times are better, and there's plenty 
of work." 
" Work ! " cried the man, bitterly. " Yes, for the 
friends of the rich ; for the young and strong ; for the 
hopeful, but not for me. I tell you, sir," he continued, 
raising his clenched fist until the ragged sleeve fell back 
and left his long, gaunt wrist bare in the biting wind, 
" I've walked from end to end of Boston, day after day, 
answering every advertisement, applying for any kind of 
honorable employment ; but not even the city will take 
me to shovel snow in the streets, and I'm discouraged, 
discouraged." 
To Mr. Broadstreet' s dismay, the poor fellow suddenly 
hid his face in his hands, and broke down in a tempest of 
sobso 
