"Okay," says the basket girl. "I can talk."

"Yeah. So you're not a baby. So you came from somewhere and you weren't just born in front of my house. But you don't remember anything?"

Basket-girl shakes her head, frowning.

"My aunt is going to try to find your parents," says Elizabeth.

The basket-child blinks owlishly at this pronouncement. "Why?"

"In case you got kidnapped from them or something, I guess," she says.

"Why would that happen?"

"I dunno."

"Oh." The basket girl begins to climb out of the basket, not particularly gymnastic about it.

Elizabeth watches closely, in case she needs help.

The basket girl tips the basket over in the process of emerging, and winds up under it.

Elizabeth lifts up the edge of the basket and peers at the girl underneath.

The girl looks up at her. "I didn't want to be in a basket, anymore," she explains.

"Do you wanna go to sleep again?" says Elizabeth. "You can."

"I wanna know what's happening," complains the debasketed girl tiredly, but she flops against the couch anyway.

"Me too," says Elizabeth.

"If I'm not new I should have a name," she adds.

"Well, do you?"

"I don't know!"

"Me neither," says Elizabeth. "I guess your parents would, if Chris finds them."

"Are you sure I have those?" asks unbasketgirl suspiciously. "I don't remember having those."

"Do you remember not having them?"

"Nnnnno."