She went to the door and called down the stairs, wishing that she knew the woman’s name. In a second, however, she received an answer, and Mrs. Brown appeared at the foot of the stairway.
“Have a good nap?” she asked.
“Fine, thanks,” replied Frieda. “But it’s late, and we want to get started. Are our clothes dry?”
“Good and dry!” answered Mrs. Brown; “and I pressed your dresses fer you!”
“Oh, thanks!” called Marjorie, gratefully. “Will you bring them up, Mrs.——?”
“Brown,” supplied the woman. “I’m a widder, and I live with me brother, Sam Cullen. You’ll meet him when you come down.”
A few minutes later she appeared with the clothing, all thoroughly dry, and, as she had said, the suits both carefully pressed. In high spirits, the girls dressed quickly.
When they went downstairs they were surprised at the darkness of the house. Then, looking around, they saw that every window was tight shut, and the shutters closed and bolted from the outside. Two or three oil lamps were burning in the hall, kitchen and dining room.
“Why so dark?” asked Marjorie, as Mrs. Brown motioned her to a seat at the table.
“Well, we ain’t got no nettin’ and the flies gets in after the vittals. It’s dreadful to be poor!”