No sooner did I open the door into the smoky atmosphere, into the midst of the little world here assembled, than I felt the quick kindness of welcome.
My place was at the table's end, before the Irish stew.
"Miss Ballard!" The landlady put her arm about my waist and introduced me, mentioning the names of every one present. There were four women besides myself and four men.
"I don't want Miss Ballard to feel strange," said my hostess in her pretty Canadian patois. "I want her to be at home here."
I sat down.
"Oh, she'll be at home all right!" A frowzy-headed, pretty brunette from the table's other end raised kind eyes to me and nodded a smiling good-fellowship.
"Come to work in the shops?"
"Yes."
"Ever been to Lynn before?"
"No; live in Paris—stranger."