"Not a 'sylum, miss, please!" said the old woman.
"No," said Angela quietly. "Not an asylum, A home—a bright, clean, comfortable home——"
"I can work, miss!" put in old Marg, doubling her knotted hands to show their strength. "I can wash, an' scrub——"
"Yes," said Angela, "you may work all you are able, helping to keep things clean and comfortable."
Still old Marg looked doubtful. Wiping her cheeks with a corner of the shawl, she half turned toward the door.
"Have you a family, or any one belonging to you?" asked Angela, thinking to have reached the root of the difficulty.
"Yes," said the old woman stoutly. "I have a cat. Where I go, she must go, too!"
Angela patted the grimy hand, with a laugh which was good to hear.
"I understand you perfectly," she said. "I have a cat of my own. You and your cat shall not be separated."
A half-hour later entered the young man Robert. Angela pointed silently to old Marg, sitting in a warm corner, contentedly munching her Christmas dinner. "What have you done to her?" he asked. "She looks more human already."