“What do you think of that!” he says. “What is your name, youngster?”
“Hendrik,” answers the boy, looking up.
“Hendrik what? You have another name, haven't you?”
The boy shakes his head and looks puzzled, as if the thought of two names were too much for him. “Hendrik,” he repeats more clearly and firmly.
“And what is her name?” asks the commandant, patting the little girl.
“Sooss,” answers the boy. “Mama say 'ickle angel.' Hendrik say Sooss.”
All effort to get any more information from the children was fruitless. They were too small to remember much, and what they did remember was of their own size—only very little things, of no importance except to themselves. The commandant looks at the nurse quizzically.
“Now, miss, you have unloaded these vague babies on me. What do you propose that I should do with them? Adopt them?”
“Not yet, anyhow,” she answers, smiling broadly. “Let us take them up to the camp. I'll bet we can find some one there to look after them. What do you say, sir?”
“Well, well,” he sighs, “have your own way as usual! Just ring that bell for the automobile, als't-Ublieft.”