"They aren't?" said the little old woman, stopping short. "Then
where are your folks?"

"We haven't any, not just now," said Jan. "You see our father is
a soldier, and our mother, oh, have you seen our mother? She's
lost!"

The little old woman gave them a quick, pitying glance. "Lost, is
she?" she said. "Well, now, I can't just be sure whether I've
seen her or not, not knowing what she looks like, but I wouldn't
say I haven't. Lots of folks have passed this way. How did she
get lost?" She sat down on the edge of the barrow and drew the
children to her side. "Come, now," she said, "tell Granny all
about it! I've seen more trouble than any one you ever saw in all
your life before, and I'm not a mite afraid of it either."

Comforted already, the children poured forth their story.

"You poor little lambs!" she cried, when they had finished, "and
you haven't had a bite to eat since yesterday! Mercy on us! You
can never find your mother on an empty stomach!" She rose from
the wheelbarrow, as she spoke, and trundled it swiftly from the
road to the bank of the river, a short distance away. Here, in a
sheltered nook, hidden from the highway by a group of willows,
she stopped. "We'll camp right here, and I'll get you a dinner
fit for a king or a duke, at the very least," she said cheerily.
"Look what I have in my wheelbarrow!" She took a basket from the
top of it as she spoke.