Young Annie Halliway came here. She was perfectly gentle about it. All her ways were gentle. She sat down on the ground at Old Man Smith's feet. She lifted her eyes to Old Man Smith's eyes. She looked holy. But all the time that she looked so holy she kept right on braiding the handle of the blue china cup into her hair. It cranked against the tin trumpet. It sounded a little like the 4th of July. Old Man Smith reached down and took her chin in his hands. "Oh my Lord--what a beautiful face!" he said. "What a beautiful face!--And you say she's lost her mind?" he said. "You say she's lost her mind?" He turned to Carol. "And what do _you_ say?" he asked. "Oh, please, Sir, Carol doesn't say anything!" I explained. "He can't! He's dumb!" "_Dumb?_" cried Old Man Smith. "So this is the Dumb Child, is it?" He looked at Carol. He looked at himself. He looked at my freckles. He rocked his hands on his stomach. "Merciful God!" he said. "How are we all afflicted!" "Oh, please, Sir," I said, "my brother Carol isn't afflicted at all!--It's a great _gift_ my Mother says to be born with the Gift of Silence instead of the Gift of Speech!" He made a little chuckle in his throat. He began to look at Young Annie Halliway all over again. "And what does your Mother say about _her_?" he pointed. "My Mother says," I explained, "that she only hopes that the person who finds her mind will be honest enough to return it!" "What?" said Old Man Smith. "To return it?--Honest enough to return it?" He began to do everything all over again!--To chuckle! To rock! To take Young Annie Halliway's chin in his hand! "And what did you say your name was, my pretty darling?" he asked. Young Annie Halliway looked a little surprised. "My name is Robin," she said. "Dearest--Robin--I think." "You think wrong!" said Old Man Smith. He frowned with ferocity. It made us pretty nervous all of a sudden. Carol went off to look at the bee-hive to calm himself. Young Annie Halliway picked up the end of one of her long braids and looked at that. There was still about a foot of it that didn't have anything braided into it. I didn't know where to look so I looked at the house. It was very glistening. Blue it glistened. And green it glistened! And red it glistened! And pink! And purple! And yellow! "Oh, see!" I pointed. "There's old Mrs. Beckett's rose-vase with the gold edge!--She dropped it on the brick garden-walk the day her son who'd been lost at sea for eleven years walked through the gate all alive and perfectly dry!--And that chunky white nozzle with the blue stripe on it?--I know what that is!--It's the nose of Deacon Perry's first wife's best tea pot!--I've seen it there! In a glass cupboard! On the top shelf!--She never used it 'cept when the Preacher came!" "The Deacon's second wife broke it--feeding chickens out of it," said Old Man Smith.