The Foundling . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Page 9

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“Any news from town since I left?” he asked, sitting beside Lorri on the cedar chest. Lorri shook her head. Ranger’s head perked up, sniffing. Stan smiled – Lorri’s stew smelled good and Ranger knew supper would come soon.

“Nobody’s come up, and I had little enough reason for a trip down.”

The dogs outside began barking; Ranger growled, staring intently at the door. Stan stood, making his way to the window.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know, Lorri.” The dogs never acted like this. He peered harder. The dogs howled fiercely at something beyond sight, but seemed reluctant to leave the house. And there looked