"Just a dollar," she exclaimed. "I declare we are both poor, with money in the bank, too." She paused a moment in deep thought. "I'll tell you what you might do."
"What?" asked Deb, eagerly.
"Move your things down to my house. I'll let you have the back bedroom and attic, and when you're settled we'll see what is to be done. Jack will be back before a great while, I'm certain."
Miss Parks was entirely alone in the world. The house that she occupied was her own, left her by an invalid uncle, whom she had nursed constantly during the last four years of his life. She was a dress-maker, and a lady's companion, and earned a fair living--a goodly portion of which found its way to charity and the church--for she was a devout Christian, and an earnest worker in the cause.
"Oh, thank you!" cried Deb, a heavy weight taken from her mind. "But won't it be inconvenient for you?"
"Not a bit. In fact I think I'll enjoy company."
"Then I'll accept your offer," continued the girl, "And I think it is real good of you to let me come."
Miss Parks bent down and kissed the tired cheeks.
"You're a good girl, Deb," she said. "You don't deserve such a trial as this."
A little later a truckman was engaged who speedily transferred the household goods to Deb's new home.