Then, she timidly made inquiries of an old porter, whose honest countenance inspired her with trust, and who told her that the street in which her aunt lived, was not very far off, and if she could wait till after the arrival of the express, he would undertake to show her the way, and carry her trunk thither.
To this proposal, Ellen was glad to agree. And after waiting till the express had come snorting into the station and deposited its passengers, and they had all satisfactorily obtained their luggage and departed, the old man shouldered Ellen's trunk, and led the way along wet, sloppy streets, which had a cheerless look to a stranger's eye. The rain fell fast, and Ellen's print gown was wet through, and she felt chilled both outwardly and inwardly before she reached her aunt's house.
"Number 13, this is the place," said the porter. And Ellen was further assured of the fact by seeing in the window, which prominently displayed an open fashion-book, backed by some mantles and children's dresses, a card, on which was printed in ornamental letters,—
"Miss Mansfield, dress and mantle maker."
The man gave a loud rap at the door, which was opened by a girl about Ellen's age, smartly yet untidily dressed, who stared rudely at her as she invited her to enter.
"If that's Ellen, tell her not to give the porter more than sixpence," cried a shrill voice from the top of the stairs.
But Ellen had already ungrudgingly given the man the shilling he asked.
"Tell Ellen to take off her boots before she comes upstairs," cried the shrill voice again.
An injunction which Ellen was glad to obey, for her feet were damp.
"My! You are wet," remarked the girl who had admitted her, smiling as she spoke, as though she found the fact amusing.