So James Martin walked home with Tarbox, and was introduced to Mrs. Waters,—a widow who looked as if it required hard work and anxious thought to keep her head above water. Of course she was glad to get another boarder, and her necessities were such that she could not afford to be particular, or possibly Mr. Martin's appearance might have been an objection.
"I suppose," she said, "you won't have any objection to go in with Mr. Tarbox."
"No," said Martin, "not at present; but I may be bringing my little girl over here before long. Do you think you can find room for her?"
"She might sleep with my little girl," said Mrs. Waters; "that is, if you don't object. How old is she?"
"She is seven."
"And my Fanny is eight. They'd be company for each other."
"My little girl is in New York, at present," said Mr. Martin, "stopping with—with a relative. I shall leave her there for a while."
"You can bring her any time, Mr. Martin," said Mrs. Waters. "If you will excuse me now, I will go and see about the supper."
In ten minutes the bell rang, and the boarders went down to the basement to eat their supper.
Considering Mrs. Waters' rate of board, which has already been mentioned, it will hardly be expected that her boarding establishment was a very stylish one. Indeed, style would hardly have been appreciated by the class of boarders which patronized her. A table, covered with a partially dirty cloth, stood in the centre of the room. On this were laid out plates and crockery of common sort, and a good supply of plain food, including cold meat. Mrs. Waters found that her boarders were more particular about quantity than quality, and the hearty appetite which they brought with them after a day's work in the open air caused them to make serious inroads even upon the most bountiful meal which she could spread before them.