"Yes, Mrs. Fisher's letter must be answered," said the parson, pulling himself out of his revery. "She asks if we can find a place in Badgertown for this child, who seems uncommonly clever, and is, so she writes, very truthful. And I'm sure, Almira, if Mrs. Fisher says so, the last word has been spoken."
"Yes, indeed," said his wife heartily.
"And they've found out a great deal about her. She's been half starved and cruelly beaten."
The parson's wife hid her tender eyes on her husband's coat sleeve.
"Oh, dear me!" she exclaimed sympathetically.
"And the old woman who pretended to be her grandmother, and who beat her because she wouldn't steal, became frightened at the investigation, and has cleared out, so there is no one to lay a claim to 'Rag.'"
"To whom?" asked Mrs. Henderson, raising her head suddenly.
"Rag—that's the only name the child says she has. But Mrs. Fisher writes they call her Rachel now. You didn't notice that when you read the letter, did you, Almira?"
"No," said his wife, "I didn't have time to read more than part of it.
Don't you remember, I hurried over to Grandma Bascom's with the little
Pepper letters, and you said you'd talk it over with me when I got home?
And then Peletiah came after me, and I ran back here to poor Jerusha."
"Oh, I remember. I shouldn't have asked you." He nodded remorsefully. "Well, then, I'll tell you the rest. You read the first part—how they ran across the girl, and all that?"