"Poor little Stephanie," she said, "you come right in and make you'self at home along of us!"
And, as the child did not stir, seemingly frozen there against the stained and battered wall, the carpenter said:
"Du! Stephanie! Hey you, Steve! Come home und get you some breakfast right away quick!"
"Is that their kid?" inquired a policeman coming out of the place of death and wiping the sweat from his face.
"Sure. I take her in."
"Well, you'll have to fix that matter later——"
"I fix it now. I take dot little Steve for mine——"
The policeman yawned over the note book in which he was writing.
"It ain't done that way, I'm tellin' you! Well, all right! You can keep her until the thing is fixed up——" He went on writing.
The carpenter strode over to the child; his blond hair bristled, his beard was fearsome and like an ogre's. But his voice trembled with Teuton sentiment.