Jenny laughed outright, and kept on laughing as she answered: "No wonder you asked, but I shouldn't set milk on the floor and it's water in the pans. It's a water farm!"
The laughter was mutual now, and the audacious youth, moving to the lower step and glancing upward, said: "I see you're a little shy on shingles?"
"Just a trifle, but I'm long on milk pans!"
"They told me you were a first-class farmer but—er—a little handicapped on outside work."
Jenny leaned against the door-frame and stroked her crutch with a smile.
"Footicapped would be a better word," she said. "Are you a stranger in Riverboro? Won't you rest a moment? Make your way through the milk pans to the rocking chair. I do need a little help in getting my winter wood in."
"You'll require a lot of wood unless you get a tight roof over your head," said the stranger. "I'm a Western farmer's son, or at least I was; but my mother and father died while I was in France and I'm alone in the world."
"France?" echoed Jenny, with a new glance in her eye and a new tone in her voice.
"Yes, but we'll cut that out! I landed in Boston the other day and now I'm just kind of 'adventuring' till I get my 'peace legs' on."
"You couldn't have come to a worse place than Riverboro. There hasn't been an adventure here in a hundred years."