“Thank you,” in low, but sweet tones, came from her lips, and the two wended their way along, with Trot close behind.

They passed pleasant private dwellings, and then turned into a long and narrow street, with blocks of houses on either side.  Margaret had supposed by the name, that the street must be very pretty, with rows of trees on each side.  She was just learning that there are many misnomers in life, and that this was one.

The house in the third block was reached, and Mrs. Armstrong rapped with her parasol on the door.  A red faced, but good-natured appearing woman answered the call.

“We have called to see if you have a spare room for a young lady who wishes board,” said Mrs. Armstrong.

“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.”

“I would n’t care myself about the cur,” said Mrs. Crawford, following them to the door, “but my boarders are so agin anything in the shape of a dog.”

“Certainly; she could scarcely expect you to take him; and besides, I want him to watch my chickens and garden.  I took a fancy to him the moment I first saw him.”

Having thus made all satisfactory in regard to the dog, as far as Mrs. Crawford was concerned, they bade her good-day, and reached home just before dark.

“You are too kind,” said Margaret to Mrs. Armstrong, who told her that she must remain all night with her, and then she could say no more, but broke down completely.