"Ye-es," Dorothy said, slowly, with a throb of joy, as she reflected that her young mistress might not be deprived of her comfortable quarters after all. "There is a big chamber to the north, cold enough for anybody, but Miss Bessie got this ready for you. She will not like you to change. Do you have the tisick very bad?"
Grey did not answer this question, but began to gather up his brushes and his combs, and putting them into his valise, he said, "I want that north room; take me there, please, and say nothing to your mistress."
Dorothy knew this last was impossible; she should be obliged to tell Bessie; but she did not oppose the young man whose manner was so masterful, and whom she led to the great, cheerless room with its smoky chimney down which the winter wind was roaring with a dismal sound, while across the hearth a huge rat ran as they entered it.
"'Tis a sorry place, and you'll be very cold, but I'll warm your bed and give you plenty of blankets and hot water in the morning," Dorothy said, as she hastily gathered up the few articles belonging to Bessie, who had transferred them from her own room to this.
"I shall sleep like a top," Grey replied. "Much better than by the fire. This suits me perfectly, and the cold is nothing to what America can do."
He was very reassuring; and wholly deceived by his manner, Dorothy departed and left him to himself.
"Whew!" he said, as a gust of wind stronger than usual struck the windows and puffed down the chimney, almost knocking over the fire-board. "This is a clipper and no mistake. And what an old stable of a room it is, and what a place for that dainty little Bessie to be in. She would be frozen solid before morning. I guess I shall sleep in my overcoat and boots. What a lovely face she has, and how it reminds me of somebody--I don't know whom, unless it is Aunt Hannah, whose face I seemed to see right side by side with Bessie. They must be awfully poor, and I wish I had brought her something better for a Christmas present than this jim-crack," and opening his valise he took out a pretty little inlaid work-box fitted up with all the necessary appliances, even to a gold thimble.
Remembering the Christmas at home when a present was as much a part of that day as his breakfast, Grey had bought the box in London as a gift to Bessie, and when he caught a glimpse, as he did, of the worn basket, with its spools and scissors and colored yarns for darning, which Dorothy gathered up among other articles belonging to Bessie, he was glad he had made the choice he did. But now, as he surveyed the apartment and felt how very poor his host and daughter must be, he wished that he could give them something better than this fanciful box, which could neither feed nor keep them warm.