Robin said, with his grave little elderly air. He was curiously grave for his years sometimes. "Anybody can see we have nothing to steal. I think anyone would know that we only want to go to bed."
It was a queer place they finally hit upon. It was up a side street, which was poorly lighted and where the houses were all shabby and small. On the steps of one of them a tired-looking woman was sitting with a little, pale, old-faced boy beside her. Robin stopped before her.
"Have you a room where my sister could sleep, and I could have a mattress on the floor, or lie down on anything?" he said. "We can't afford to go anywhere where it will cost more than fifty cents."
The woman looked at them indifferently. She was evidently very much worn out with her day's work, and discouraged by things generally.
"I haven't anything worth more than fifty cents, goodness knows!" she answered. "You must be short of money to come here. I've never thought of having roomers."
"We're poor," said Robin. "And we know we can't have anything but a poor room. If we can lie down, we are so tired we shall go to sleep anywhere. We've been at the Fair all day."
The pale, little, old-faced boy leaned forward,
