Indeed, the place where they found themselves at last was not a
pleasant one for fairies. It was two places, in fact, but they were so
much alike that there was nothing to choose between them. A tenement
had been found for the O'Briens, up many flights of stairs, in a house
with many other tenements. There was barely enough room in it for them
to live, though it was better, in that respect, than their old cabin
in Ireland. The stairs and the passage were far from clean, and they
led down to a street that was just as far from clean.
It was hard all over with square stones, which had sunk, in places,
and made hollows, which were filled with muddy water. Lean cats
scuttled about here and there, and ran away, if anybody came near
them, as if they expected to have stones thrown at them, and then,
when the danger seemed past, they rummaged in the ash-barrels for
scraps of meat or fish or bread. The people who lived in the houses
sat on the doorsteps and on the curb-stones, and chattered and
laughed and quarrelled and slept. The sun shone into the street, but
it could not shine between the houses.
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