"But there were the Brubakers—her father worked for Mr. Brubaker. Don't you suppose——?"
"No; I don't suppose she ever saw anything of them. She is used to wandering about just as she pleases. Whatever education she has acquired was probably beaten into her by some rough, country schoolmaster."
Marjorie sighed hopelessly.
Mrs. Johnson read her thoughts. "But it isn't hopeless, my dear," she added softly. "Frieda is a human being, with a soul. And she is young, too. If we can keep her here, away from her parents' bad influence, we may yet be able to civilize her. Don't give up yet!"
Marjorie was unconsciously encouraged by these words. But she wanted more definite details of the girl's behavior.
"I sent her supper to her last night," said Mrs. Johnson, "by Annie, the girl who comes in to help me cook and wash dishes. She said that Frieda opened the door and snarled at her something which she could not understand, except the word 'servant,' and snatched the food and slammed the door in her face.
"She did not appear at breakfast, but I heard her go out for a walk; and when she came back, I was home from church and had dinner on the table. I asked her to come in, and she followed me to the dining-room.
"When I introduced her to father and mother, and Mr. Johnson, she paid not the slightest attention. Her manners at the table were terrible; she evidently knew nothing about the use of a knife and fork. She ate greedily, as if she were very hungry. And, by the way, I think the girl is decidedly undernourished.
"Immediately after dinner she went to her room again. Now, if you want to go up and see her, you can do as you like. You know the facts."
Marjorie jumped to her feet.