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known his mother to be unkind. He would be kind to her too. Still, this sad girl and her peculiar father were beginning to make him uncomfortable. He gave himself a little shake. The new boarders would keep him out of grave robbing. Nothing else mattered, did it?
    â€¦
    At noontime, Robby went back upstairs to escort Martha to the kitchen. He was surprised to hear Miss Stone call to him through her open door just at the top of the stairs. “Robby, darling, come here, please.”
    He turned to go in her direction. The old woman sat in her rocker, and on the foot of her bed, Martha was curled up with a book of fairy tales by Hans Christian Andersen in her hand. Miss Stone motioned toward the girl. “As you can see, I’ve met Martha. Isn’t it lovely to have her with us?”
    â€œYes, ma’am,” Robby said, ashamed of the jealousy he felt. He did not want to share Miss Stone with this strange girl, but somehow it had already happened. She was in Robby’s place reading his books, and she looked totally at home. “Ma’s got vittles ready,” he said, trying not to sound cross.
    â€œGood,” said Miss Stone. “Is your father home today, Robby?”
    â€œNo, ma’am, he isn’t.” He knew that the lady would go downstairs for the noon meal. She rarely ate in the kitchen if doing so meant eating with Roger Hare.
    Miss Stone put down the mending she had been working on. “I believe I’m strong enough to go downstairs to eat.” She rose and moved toward the door, calling to Martha, “Come dear, Robby’s mother is a wonderful cook. She’ll put some meat on your bones. You can be sure of that!”
    â€œMay I borrow the book?” asked Martha. “I’d like to read more.”
    â€œCertainly,” said Mrs. Stone. “Take it to your room now.”
    When they were at the staircase, Robby took Miss Stone’s arm. They moved slowly down the steps, Martha following. All the way down, Robby scolded himself for being jealous. What if his mother sickened and died? What if he had no one left to him except Da? Well, at least Martha’s father seemed a deal kinder to her than Robby’s father was to him.
    â€œWhere did you last live, dear?” Miss Stone asked after they were all settled with full plates.
    A nervous look crossed Martha’s face. She started to say something, then paused. “Papa’s family is all from Massachusetts,” she murmured.
    â€œThat doesn’t answer the question.” Robby stabbed at the cake of butter with his knife. “She asked you where you lived last.”
    Robby’s mother glared at him. “Ah, Massachusetts,” said the old teacher at once, acting as if Robby had said nothing. “Do you know the story of the Pilgrims landing in Massachusetts?”
    Martha shook her head. “You will soon,” said Miss Stone. “I’ll tell you all about them this very day.”
    Robby felt irritated. Martha had been allowed to get away with not answering a question asked her by her elder. Ma wouldn’t put up with that from him. She had not answered the question about where she had lived before coming to their house. She had deliberately given an answer designed to stop other questions. What secret were Martha and her father hiding? He took a spoonful of beans from his bowl. He would find out.
    All through the meal, Ma fussed over Martha, making sure her bread was buttered and her beans warm. The girl said no more than three or four words, and she barely looked at Ma or Miss Stone when they spoke to her. She did not look at Robby, not even once. Well, that was fine with him. Ma might not believe the girl to be daft, but Robby wasn’t so sure.
    When they had finished eating, Martha said, “I can help with the dishes.” Her voice was very soft. “I do know what to do.”
    Ma refused. “That’s very nice of you, but you should go read