"'He's wet as a rat,' he says. 'Look at his shoes.'
"'Well-a, make him tell his name, why don't you?' says Mis' Sykes, sharp. 'I think we'd ought to find out who he is. What's your name, Boy?' she adds, brisk.
"Insley dropped the boy's feet and took a-hold of one of his hands. 'Yes,' he says, hasty, 'we must try to do that.' But he looked right straight over Mis' Sykes's shoulder to where, beyond the others, Robin Sidney was standing. 'He was your friend first,' he said to her. 'You found him.'
"She come and knelt down beside the child where, on Insley's knee, he sat staring round, all wondering and questioning, to the rest of us. But she seemed to forget all about the rest of us, and I loved the way she was with that little strange boy. She kind of put her hands on him, wiping the raindrops off his face, unbuttoning his wet coat, doing a little something to his collar; and every touch was a kind of a little stroke that some women's hands give almost without their knowing it. I loved to watch her, because I'm always as stiff as a board with a child—unless I'm alone with them. Then I ain't.
"'My name's Robin,' she says to the little fellow. 'What's yours, dear?'
"'Christopher,' he says right off. 'First, Christopher. An' then John. An' then Bartlett. Have you only got one name?' he asked her.
"'Yes, I've got two,' she says. 'The rest of mine is Sidney. Where—'
"'Only two?' says the child. 'Why, I've got three.'
"'Only two,' she answers. 'Where did your father go—don't you know that, Christopher?'