She was well grown and seemed strong, although exhausted by walking and hunger.
Martha took her in, and an idea seized the good woman, after certain questions had been put and answered.
It was their plain duty to keep this little stranger until somebody claimed her, and in the event of no one turning up for the waif, why not train her for service?
Lucianna was reticent about her past career. Enos thought she lied. Martha said she was too young to remember. It seemed a case of no mother, a father who had gone away leaving her with unkind people who did not love her.
In corroboration of this last statement Lucianna exposed a plump arm decorated with small bruises of various ages and colors.
“Pinches,” she explained, snuffling. This settled Enos, who went down cellar and split more kindlings than he had ever done at one bout.
When he came up, perspiring and still glaring, Lucianna had been fed and put to bed. Martha was washing the soiled socks, and singing thoughtfully.
“Seems nice to have a child in the house,” she remarked.
“We’ll keep her along,” returned Mr. Matchett. “Good little thing.”
“As gold,” affirmed his wife.