They went up two flights of the crooked, crazy stairs, and at the top of the second flight the woman opened a door.
“That’s all the place there is,” she said. “It isn’t anything more than a place to lie down in, you see. I can put a mattress on the floor for you, and your sister can sleep in the cot.”
“That’s all we want,” replied Robin.
But it was a poor place. A room, both small and bare, and with broken windows. There was nothing in it but the cot and a chair.
“Ben sleeps here,” the woman said. “If I couldn’t make him a place on the floor, near me, I couldn’t let it to you.” Meg turned and looked at Ben. He was gazing at her with a nervous interest.
“We’re much obliged to you,” she said.
“It’s all right,” he said, with eager shyness. “Do you want some water to wash yourselves with? I can bring you up a tin basin and a jug. You can set it on the chair.”
“Thank you,” they both said at once. And Robin added, “We want washing pretty badly.”
Ben turned about and went down-stairs for the water as if he felt a sort of excitement in doing the service. These two children, who looked as poor as himself, set stirring strange thoughts in his small, unnourished brain.
He brought back the tin basin and water, a piece of yellow soap, and even a coarse, rather dingy, towel. He had been so eager that he was out of breath when he returned, but he put the basin on the chair and the tin jug beside it, with a sort of exultant look in his poor face.