CHAPTER NINTH.

Room to rent.

We must now return to my heroine, who, with her two children, we left slowly travelling toward Jackson, Mississippi.  On arriving at Ponchatula, she took the cars on the New Orleans, Jackson and Great Northern Railroad, and in a few hours was in Jackson.  On arriving there she proceeded to the Bowman House, and purchasing a newspaper eagerly scanned the columns to find an advertisement of rooms to rent, knowing full well that, with her limited means, she would never be able to remain at the hotel, or live at a boarding house.

After looking for some time, without finding the desired advertisement, her eye at last lit upon the following notice under the heading of “To rent:” 

“To rent,

“Unfurnished rooms in the one-story tenement buildings on
——­ street.  For particulars, apply to the undersigned at
his office on Main street, near the State House.

JamieElder.”

After reading it she folded the paper, and remained musing for several minutes, when rising up she went to her children, and, kissing them, told them she was going out for a few minutes, and to play like good children until her return.  She then left the hotel, and, after some little trouble, at last found out the office of Mr. Elder, which she entered.

“Is Mr. Elder in?” she inquired of a clerk.

“Yes, madam,” he replied.

“Can I see him?” she asked.

He gave her no answer, but going to an adjoining door, half opened it, and announced, in a loud voice, that a lady desired to see Mr. Elder.

“Admit her,” was the reply of that gentleman.

Mrs. Wentworth passed the desk, and, entering the room from whence the voice proceeded, found herself in the presence of Mr. Elder, who was seated in an arm chair reading a newspaper.

“Be seated, madam,” he said, rising and handing her a chair.  “What can I have the honor of doing for you this morning?”

“This is your advertisement, I believe,” she replied, handing him the newspaper.

“Yes, madam,” he answered, looking at her through his spectacles.

“Well, sir, it is my desire to rent one of the rooms.”

“You, madam!” he replied, evidently surprised at her question.

“Yes, sir,” she replied; “I am a refugee from New Orleans, having been driven from there by General Butler.  My husband is now a prisoner of war in the hands of the enemy, and my means being limited, I am compelled to live economically.”

“Ahem, ahem,” said Mr. Elder, clearing his throat; “indeed, madam, I sympathise with you.  This war has cast many people homeless and in need throughout the country.  I sympathize with you, indeed I do,” and he looked on her in the most benevolent manner possible.

“Well, sir, what is the price charged for the rent of one of your rooms?” asked Mrs. Wentworth after a few moments’ silence.