Mrs. Kenyon got into the carriage and was soon landed at the hotel. It might be called rather a boarding-house than a hotel, as it could hardly accommodate more than a dozen guests. It was by no means stylish, but looked tolerably comfortable. In Mrs. Kenyon's state of mind she was not likely to care much for luxury, and she said to herself wearily:
"This will do as well as any other place."
She enquired the terms of board, and found them very reasonable. This was a relief, for she had but two hundred dollars with her, and a part of this must be expended for the replenishing of her wardrobe. This she attended to at once, and, though she studiedeconomy, it consumed about one-half of her scanty supply.
Four weeks passed. Mrs. Kenyon found time hanging heavily upon her hands. She appeared to have no object left in life. Her boy was dead, or at least she supposed so. She had a husband, but he had proved himself her bitterest foe. She had abstained from making acquaintances, because acquaintances are apt to be curious, and she did not wish to talk of the past.
There was one exception, however. One afternoon when out walking, a pretty little girl, perhaps four years of age, ran up to her, crying:
"Take me to mamma. I'm so frightened!"
She was always fond of children, and her heart opened to the little girl.
"What is the matter, my dear?" she asked soothingly.
"I've lost my mamma," sobbed the little girl.
"How did it happen, my child?"