The little face looked up at her. The small mouth opened. "Jana." It was half whisper, half whistle.
"That's right," she replied, stroking his hair. "My, but your throat must be sore. I hope you won't be sick from breathing too much of that awful air."
She regarded him quizzically. "You know, I've never seen many little boys. I don't quite know how to treat one. But I know you should get some sleep."
She smiled and reached over to take off the rags. He pulled away suddenly.
"Don't be afraid," she said reassuringly. "I wouldn't hurt you."
He clutched the little ragged shirt tightly.
"Don't be afraid," she repeated soothingly. "I'll tell you what. You lie down and I'll put this blanket over you," she said, rising. "Will that be all right?"
She laid him down and covered the small form with a blanket. He lay there watching her with his large eyes.
"You don't look very sleepy," she said. "Perhaps I had better turn the light down." She did so, slowly, so as not to alarm him. But he was silent, watchful, never taking his eyes from her.
She smiled and sat down next to him. "Now I'll tell you a story and then you must go to sleep," she said softly.