Finally Mrs. Dennison she spoke.
"'What's your name, little girl?' says she.
"Then the child looks up and stops stroking the cat, and says she
can't find her mother, just the way she said it to me. Then Mrs.
Dennison she gave such a gasp that Mrs. Bird thought she was going
to faint away, but she didn't. 'Well, who is your mother?' says
she. But the child just says again 'I can't find my mother--I
can't find my mother.'
"'Where do you live, dear?' says Mrs. Bird.
"'I can't find my mother,' says the child.
"Well, that was the way it was. Nothing happened. Those two women
stood there hanging onto each other, and the child stood in front
of them, and they asked her questions, and everything she would say
was: 'I can't find my mother.'
"Then Mrs. Bird tried to catch hold of the child, for she thought
in spite of what she saw that perhaps she was nervous and it was a
real child, only perhaps not quite right in its head, that had run
away in her little nightgown after she had been put to bed.
"She tried to catch the child. She had an idea of putting a shawl
around it and going out--she was such a little thing she could have
carried her easy enough--and trying to find out to which of the
neighbours she belonged.
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