The Foundling . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Page 8

didn’t know better, I’d swear they swam the fish into the nets when my back was turned.”

Putting a hand on her shoulder, he intercepted her load.

“Why don’t you go on inside?” he suggested. “I daresay you’ve been doing more work than you ought these last few weeks.” Ignoring her protest, he walked her to the door, saw her inside, and returned to the cart.

It took some time, even moving quickly, to unload everything and see it safely stored in the shed. He didn’t worry about critters or thieves. Nothing would get past the dogs. Ranger came inside with him, as eager as Stan for the stew they could smell.

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