He is wet and cold and tired . Hush , sweet one , we will go home . '' Silently I followed her home . The wind was rising , coming in sudden , angry gusts ; the storm was at hand , but we reached shelter before it broke . Just as I shut our door behind us it smote the house with the roar of a baffled beast . I thanked God that we were not out in it , following the dream-child . `` You are very wet , Josie , '' I said . `` Go and put on dry clothes at once . '' `` The child must be looked to first , '' she said firmly . `` See how chilled and exhausted he is , the pretty dear . Light a fire quickly , David , while I get dry things for him . '' I let her have her way . She brought out the clothes our own child had worn and dressed the waif in them , rubbing his chilled limbs , brushing his wet hair , laughing over him , mothering him . She seemed like her old self . For my own part , I was bewildered . All the questions I had not asked before came crowding to my mind how . Whose child was this ? Whence had he come ? What was the meaning of it all ? He was a pretty baby , fair and plump and rosy .
When he was dried and fed , he fell asleep in XXXXX 's arms .
David Josie dream-child fire first mind storm things waif way