“You poor little creature! Come in, come in!”
As the little girl looked up she, also, realized that here was somebody different from old Marta and the lively Anita. The woman’s face was thin and worn but showed refinement, as did the modulations of her quiet voice.
“She speaks like our father,” thought the wanderer and, impulsively, flung her arms about the stranger’s neck.
The embrace was cordially returned.
“My child, you have found friends. Wherever you come from you are safe with us. Come into the house, all of you. Come.”
“That settles it!” commented a boyish voice, and somebody laughed. “What Ma says, goes. But where in the name of—”
“Jack, my son!”
“Yes, ma’am,” with a mock humility.
“Take care of your tongue.”
“Ma, that’s too big a contract, without your help. But, who are you, anyway?” he demanded, turning to Carlos, who had become adept in telling his story; and who had now scarcely finished it when there came a rumble and jar which startled the Manuels, and sent all the listeners to their feet.