“Don’t you know any of her folks who could care for her?”
“No, marm. Her mother came to our house when Clematis was a tiny baby. She said the father was dead. Then she died too, and we could never find out who she was.”
“Do you know her last name?” asked Miss Rose.
“No, miss. We never knew her last name. She said it was Jones, but we never believed that was the truth. This little girl we just called Clematis.”
“Didn’t she have anything to help you find out who she was?” asked Mrs. Snow in surprise.
“Not a single thing, except this picture.”
The man took out a small photograph.
It showed three girls standing together in front of a brick building.
“That is her mother on the left, marm, but I don’t see how the picture helps very much.”
“That is true. Still, the picture is better than nothing.”