Jeanne did not answer. She began to stare in amazement at the wreckage all about her. Metal lamps with broken shades, tables split across the top, chairs with rounds gone—all these and many more articles of furniture and equipment were there, and all broken.
“I wouldn’t believe, unless I saw it,” she said gravely, “that so much damage could be done with one tumble.”
“Oh, that!” The girl laughed merrily. “That’s our junk pile. It will all be fixed some time. That’s what my brother Tad does all the time. We buy broken things at auction sales and such places, and he fixes them. Then we sell them. Tad’s older than I am, and an awfully good fixer.”
“He’d have to be,” said Jeanne, looking at the wreckage. “You’d think this was the hold of a vessel after a terrific storm.”
“It’s not so difficult to fix ’em. I help sometimes,” the girl said in a quiet tone. “But most of the time I’m either out buying, or else in the shop selling.”
“Buying?”
“Yes. Buying this.” The strange girl made a sweeping gesture with her hands.
“But don’t you—don’t you—how do you say that in English? Don’t you get stung?”
“Oh, yes, sometimes.” The girl’s fine white teeth showed in a smile. “But not often.
“But let me help you out of there!” she exclaimed. She put out a hand. Jeanne took it. A fine, hard, capable little hand it was.