She made an escaping gesture with her right hand. “You didn’t say who you were,” she said. “You just fell. You better tell who you are, Pop’ll want to know.” A shadow crossed her. “Pop won’t want to keep you,” she said. “But I reckon we’ll have to keep you here for a piece, You’re not fit to travel yet and that’s a fact. You look a little bit like Young Seward,” she said Reflectively, “But sometimes you look more like Oliver. I dunno. What’s your name?” Ellyat put forth his hand Toward being alive again, slowly, hauling it down. He remembered. He was Jack Ellyat. He had been lost. He had lain with hel-shoes on in Nibelung Hall For twenty years. This was the girl with the swine Whose loud sweet calling had come to him in the wood And lifted him back to warmth and a cooking world. He had lost a piece of himself, a piece of life, He must find it, but now⁠— “What’s your name?” he said in a whisper.