“We 've got a spare bed for a factory girl, if that's what you want,” she replied, grinning, and eyeing Margaret from head to foot.
“But have you no room she can have by herself?”
“Bless your stars, no my lady. We don't take them kind o' boarders. There's plenty of places where genteel folks are taken, if they like to be starved out and out,” and her face glowed with such genuine good nature, that her questioner felt that whatever else one might have to endure, they would at least have a sunny face to cheer them.
“This young woman can sleep with other folks, can't she?” inquired the good-natured woman, and her smile, not of sarcasm, but true goodness, though rough, saved Margaret's tears.
“If you have no other, she must,” said Mrs. Armstrong, disappointedly, for she saw from the first, a native dignity and delicacy in Margaret which would shrink from the contact with others, and intended to have paid the extra price demanded for a room herself, if one could have been obtained.
At that moment, old Trot came in through the open door, and looked around, as though he did not like the appearance of things.
“That dog can't come,” said the woman, losing for the first time her pleasant smile. “May-be he's your's though, madam?” she said apologetically.
“No, he's mine, and I must have him with me,” broke in Margaret, “and I cannot-”
She stopped short, frightened at her own earnest words and manner.
“I think he will be better off with me,” said Mrs. Armstrong; “I will keep him for you.”