The seamstress made her way first to Spring Street. She was led to infer, from the advertisement, that she might find cheap accommodations. But when she found herself in front of the house designated, she found it so dirty and neglected in appearance that she did not feel like entering. She was sure it would not suit her.
Next she went to Leroy Street. Here she found a neat-looking three-story brick house.
She rang the bell.
"You advertise a room to let," she said to the servant; "can I look at it?"
"I'll speak to the missis," said the girl.
Soon a portly lady made her appearance.
"You have a room to let?" said Miss Manning, interrogatively.
"Yes."
"Can I look at it?"
"It's for a gentleman," said the landlady. "I don't take ladies. Besides, it's rather expensive;" and she glanced superciliously at the plain attire of the seamstress.
Of course there was no more to be said. So Miss Manning and Rose found their way into the street once more.
The last on the list was Christopher Street.
"Come, Rose. Are you tired of walking?"
"Oh, no," said the child; "I can walk ever so far without getting tired."
Christopher Street is only three blocks from Leroy. In less than ten minutes they found themselves before the house advertised. It was a fair-looking house, but the seamstress found, on inquiry, that the room was a large one on the second floor, and that the rent would be beyond her means. She was now at the end of her list.
"I think, Rose," she said, "we will go to Washington Square, and sit down on one of the seats. I shall have to look over the paper again."
This square is a park of considerable size, comprising very nearly ten acres. Up to 1832, it had been for years used as a Potter's Field, or public cemetery, and it is estimated that more than one hundred thousand bodies were buried there. But in 1832 it became a park. There is a basin and a fountain in the centre, and it is covered with trees of considerable size. At frequent intervals there are benches for the accommodation of those who desire to pass an hour or two in the shade of the trees. In the afternoon, particularly, may be seen a large number of children playing in the walks, and nurse-maids drawing their young charges in carriages, or sitting with them on the seats.
Rose was soon busied in watching the sports of some children of her own age, while Miss Manning carefully scanned the advertisements. But she found nothing to reward her search. At length her attention was drawn to the following advertisement:—
"No. —, Waverley Place. Two small rooms. Terms reasonable."
"That must be close by," thought the seamstress.
She was right, for Waverley Place, commencing at Broadway, runs along the northern side of Washington Square. Before the up-town movement commenced, it was a fashionable quarter, and even now, as may be inferred from the character of the houses, is a very nice and respectable street, particularly that part which fronts the square.
Miss Manning could see the number mentioned from where she was seated, and saw at a glance that it was a nice house. Of course it was beyond her means,—she said that to herself; still, prompted by an impulse which she did not attempt to resist, she determined to call and make inquiries about the rooms advertised.
CHAPTER II.
THE HOUSE IN WAVERLEY PLACE
Leaving the Park, Miss Manning crossed the street, went up the front steps of a handsome house, and rang the bell.
"What a nice house!" said Rose, admiringly; "are we going to live here?"
"No, I don't think we can afford it; but I will ask to see the rooms."
Soon the door was opened, and a servant-girl looked at them inquiringly.
"Can I see the rooms you have to let?" asked the seamstress.
"Step in a moment, and I'll call Mrs. Clayton."
They stepped into a hall, and remained waiting till a woman of middle age, with a pleasant countenance, came up from below, where she had been superintending the servants.
"I saw your advertisement of rooms to let," commenced Miss Manning, a little timidly, for she knew that the house was a finer one than with her limited means she could expect to enter, and felt a little like a humbug.
"Yes, I have two small rooms vacant."
"Are they—expensive?" asked the seamstress, with hesitation.
"I ought to say that only one is at my disposal," said the landlady; "and that is a hall bedroom on the third floor back. The other is a square room, nicely furnished, on the upper floor, large enough for two. But last evening, after I had sent in the advertisement, Mrs. Colman, who occupies my second floor front, told me she intended to get a young lady to look after her two little girls during the day, and teach them, and would wish her to occupy the larger room. I thought when I first saw you that you were going to apply for the situation."
A sudden thought came to Miss Manning. Why could she not undertake this office? It would pay her much better than sewing, and the children would be companions for Rose.
"How old are the little girls?" she said.
"One is five, the other seven, years old. Mrs. Colman is an invalid, and does not feel able to have the children with her all the time."
"Is Mrs. Colman at home?"
"Yes. Would you like to see her?"
"I should. I am fond of children, and I might be willing to undertake the charge of hers, if she thought fit to intrust them to me."
"I think it quite likely you can come to an agreement. She was wondering this morning where she could hear of a suitable person. Wait here a moment, and I will go and speak to her."
Mrs. Clayton went upstairs, and returned shortly.
"Mrs. Colman would like to see you," she said. "I will lead the way."
Miss Manning followed the landlady upstairs, and was ushered into a large, handsomely furnished room on the second floor. There was a cheerful fire in the grate, and beside it, in an easy-chair, sat a lady, looking nervous and in delicate health. Two little girls, who seemed full of the health and vitality which their mother lacked, were romping noisily on the floor.
"Mrs. Colman," said the landlady, "this is the young lady I spoke of."
"Take a seat, please," said Mrs. Colman, politely. "I am an invalid as you see, Mrs. –?" here she looked up inquiringly.
"Miss Manning," said the seamstress.
"Then the little girl is not yours?"
"Not mine; but I have the care of her, as her mother is dead."
"How old is she?"
"Eight."
"A little older than my Jennie. Are you fond of children, Miss Manning?"
"Very much so."
"I am looking for some one who will look after my little girls during the day, and teach them. At present they know absolutely nothing, and I have not been willing to send them out of the house to school. What I have been thinking is, of securing some one who would live in the house, and take the care of the children off my hands. I am an invalid, as you see, and sometimes their noise absolutely distracts me."
Miss Manning was struck with pity, as