"Well!" he exclaimed, seeing the visitor to his quarters was a lady.
"I came to see if you want a cook," said Star, now feeling more composed since some one deigned to talk with her.
"A cook!" he exclaimed, grinning.
"A cook, yes, sir," she answered.
"We employ none but men cooks here, lady," he replied, and was about to close the door.
"Surely, I have made a mistake," thought Star, in this moment of her rebuff, as she took it. Her heart was failing her. She felt disconsolate. She was about to turn and flee—back to her own elements, back to her own humble surroundings; to all the shortcomings of her home, to her stupid mother, to her unfortunate brothers and sisters, to her wretched existence again, and there take up her burdens as she before had borne them.
The fat cook noticed the pallor that had come over Star's face, as the consequence of his remark, and instead of closing the door in her face, as he intended, he opened it wider, and said:
"You must be in the wrong place, Miss."
"No sir; I am not," she answered. "This is the address that was given me, where a cook was wanted—or I might be mistaken—it might be a maid is wanted for a young lady."
"Very doubtful," said the cook, scratching his head.