There is a toddler in the basket. She's about three, based on her size - the face looks a little more mature and she has negligible baby fat, though - and she's fast asleep and wrapped up tight in a blanket. She's pale and pale-haired and sitting right on this here doorstep.

The small child in the basket remains fast asleep.

"I have," sighs Chris, "no idea."

"Try to find her parents, I guess."

"Okay."

Away goes Chris.

It doesn't take that long for the small girl to open her eyes and start trying to squirm out of her blankets, looking around with bleary confusion.

The somewhat less small girl reaches into the basket to help disentangle her.

"In my house. In New York. What's your name? I'm Elizabeth."

"I -" The girl blinks, and looks down at herself. "I - I don't know."

"...What do you know?" says Elizabeth. "Do you know where you came from?"

The girl shakes her head slowly. "I'm not... just... new?" she asks haltingly.

"Well, you're new here," Elizabeth says consideringly, "but you have to have come from somewhere. And the doorbell rang, and you were sleeping so you didn't do it, so somebody has to have rang it and then put you down and ran away."

The basket child takes this in solemnly.

"And you're too big to be a baby, and you can talk. Babies can't talk," she says.

"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."

"I think everybody starts out with parents," says Elizabeth. "But you might not have them anymore. I don't."

"Why not?"

"My dad's never been around. He's not important," says Elizabeth. "And my mom died."

"Would that be a reason for me not to remember mine?"

"If they died? I dunno," says Elizabeth. "If you were really little, I guess. Do you remember anything though? Because if you don't remember anything then that's a really good reason why you wouldn't remember your parents."

"I..." Unbasketgirl scrunches her eyes shut and frowns intently. It is a long moment of thought before she says, "The sun. It was up. Now it isn't."

"That's something, I guess," Elizabeth says doubtfully.

"I think I like the sun," says unbasketgirl in a helpful voice.

"I like the sun too," says Elizabeth. "Except when it gets too bright and it's hard to see."

"I don't remember that happening," volunteers unbasketgirl after a moment.

Elizabeth regards her thoughtfully.

"You're named 'lizbeth?" abbreviates unbasketgirl in her peculiar accent.

"Close enough," says more-or-less-Lizbeth.

"Should I be named something?"

"Probably."

"What?"

She shrugs. "I dunno. Maybe you already have one and we just don't know it."

"I want to know it."

"Maybe Chris will find somebody who does."

"Chris?"

"My aunt who's looking for your parents or whatever."

"How does she know where to look?"

"I dunno. She didn't say."

"Oh." Unbasket girl taps her hands on her knees thoughtfully, then says, "I'm hungry."

Unbasket girl declares string cheese, potato chips, shortbread cookies, yogurt, salted peanuts, and leftover chicken salad "not food" before her gaze lights on the fruit bowl. She can't reach it. "Can I have the orange one?"

"Sure," says Elizabeth. She reaches into the bowl and hands the girl an orange.

The girl bites directly into the orange peel, and, apparently quite content with the results, chews on the pith.

"The inside part's good too," she advises.

"Yes," agrees the girl, who has yet to eat any inside part. "It's inside the outside part though." Chew chew.

"I don't like the outside, but the inside's tasty," says Elizabeth.

"The outside is fine," says the girl. "It's food."

"It tastes weird. But I guess not to you," says Elizabeth.

The girl's next bite includes some inside part. "Is it okay to eat the whole thing?"

She shrugs. "Yeah."

So she does. Om nom nom.

Elizabeth has a banana. She does not eat its outside part.

The girl looks speculatively at the banana peel but does not ask for it. She seems done eating when her orange is gone.

"You can have this if you want," says Elizabeth, waving the banana peel like a small floppy flag, "otherwise I'll throw it out."

"I could eat it but I'm not hungry any more."

Elizabeth shrugs and puts the peel in the compost bucket.

"How long will it take to find where I am from?"

"Dunno."

"What if it is a long time?"

Elizabeth shrugs. "Dunno."

"Hmm."

She plops herself down in a kitchen chair.

The unbasketgirl tries to climb into another one, falls on her butt, and tries again successfully.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah."

"Okay."

Unbasketgirl swings her legs and looks around the kitchen thoughtfully. "What if I don't have parents after all?"

"You have somebody," says Elizabeth. "The question's if Chris can find them or not."

"What if they aren't findable, then?"

"Then I guess you stay."

"Here?"

"Yeah. If you want," says Elizabeth.

"Okay," shrugs unbasketgirl.

"I don't know for sure if Chris will let you stay forever," she feels compelled to mention, "but I bet she will."

"Where else would I go?"

"I dunno."

"What kinda places are there in the world?"

"...What kinds of kinds do you mean?" she wonders. "Like houses and schools, or like towns and cities?"

"I don't know. All the kinds. Places to go if I can't just stay here."

"Well, you could go to somebody else's house, I guess," she says. "I don't know who, though."

"Is it nice here?"

"Yeah."

"Okay." The unbasket girl yawns.

"...Do you want to go to sleep?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"Okay. You could sleep on the couch, it's comfy. Or in your basket."

"I don't think I want to be in the basket."

"Okay," Elizabeth says agreeably.

Unbasketgirl lets herself down carefully from the chair, falls over anyway, gets up, and toddles to the couch, onto which she climbs without incident.

Elizabeth shoves the basket off the couch, leaving the blanket on the cushion where it flopped.

Unbasketgirl does not bother putting the blanket over herself. She just flops on the couch and closes her eyes.

"G'night," says Elizabeth. She goes back upstairs.