"I am ready," said Kit.
"Mother, show him to his room," added the blacksmith. "To-morrow I'll give him a lesson at the forge."
"Perhaps you will," said Kit to himself, "but I think it doubtful."
Kit's room was a small back one on the second floor. The front apartment was occupied by Mr. and Mrs. Bickford, and there was one of the same size which was used as a spare chamber.
Kit's room was supplied with a cot bed, and was furnished in the plainest manner. One thing he missed. He saw no washstand.
"Where am I to wash in the morning?" he asked.
"You can wash in the tin basin in the kitchen," answered Mrs. Bickford. "There's a bar of soap down there and a roller towel, so I guess you won't have to go dirty."
Kit shuddered at the suggestion. He had seen bars of yellow soap in the grocery at home, and didn't think he should enjoy its use. Nor did he fancy using the same towel with the blacksmith and his wife. He had seen the roller towel hanging beside the sink, and judged from its appearance that it had already been used nearly a week.
"I have been accustomed to wash in my own room," he ventured to say.
"You've been used to a great many things that you won't find here," replied Mrs. Bickford, grimly.