Winter approached, and though the tent stopped the freezing winds, his cage offered little protection from the cold. Each night, Erik burrowed under the straw and shivered until unconsciousness took him. Each night he hoped he would slip away from hypothermia. He had read about such things happening. Herroux neglected to provide him with a blanket or any heavier clothes. Erik's shirt had long since shredded from the frequent whippings. His death seemed inevitable. He only hoped it would happen in his sleep.

One night as he shivered and tried to burrow deeper into the thin layer of straw, he saw a little glow suddenly appear from the flap at the back of his room. He hadn't heard anyone approach, but prepared himself for the taunting, or beating, or whatever it was they were going to do to him.

"Boy?" It was a soft voice; something completely foreign in his world. "Boy, are you…asleep?"

He sat up warily, straightening his 'mask' and trying to see the interloper in the candlelit dimness. It was the quiet girl of the first morning. She stood there, holding a candle in one hand, and a large sack in the other. She walked close to side of the cage where he was crouching, and set down her candle.

Erik studied his visitor. She was a plain girl, with common features that fell just short of coarseness. Her stringy mouse-brown hair was pulled into a braid at the nape of her neck. Her soft brown eyes peered out from a thin, ruddy face with narrow curving lips. Her body was rangy under her simple brown wool dress and white pinafore. Her hands were covered with the tiny burns he associated with the cooks from his mother's kitchen. This girl wasn't pretty, but neither was she taunting him or making faces at him.

She spoke again, as began to untie the knot holding her sack closed. "Mother told me I could do as I pleased tonight. She doesn't care, as long as I don't get us in trouble. She thinks the way Herroux treats you is horrid anyway, so when I tell her what I did, she won't be mad."

Erik stared at her, making no comment. What was she babbling about? What was in the bag? When was she going to turn on him and taunt him? He watched as she pulled a small brown paper sack and set it on the ground. Then she wrestled a large blanket out of the bag and began threading it between the bars of his cage.

"There. Wrap up in that. Why don't you talk? Can you talk?" she was peering at him with concerned brown eyes, clearly trying to decide whether he was mute or feeble.

He hadn't spoken since his mother left him to Herroux's tender care. There was no need to speak, only to obey. He often would sing to himself in the silence of the early morning, but that wasn't the same as speaking. He had almost forgotten what conversation was like. After a moment's consideration he decided he would answer her, but only as long as she remained civil.

"I can speak. Who are you?" He did not trust this girl, but couldn't deny that it was good to talk to a person who wasn't screaming obscenities at him.

He pulled the blanket over himself, wrapping it around his thin, shivering shoulders. As it abraded the fresh wounds on his back he sucked in a quick breath. Erik was sure some of the cuts had reopened, but he was too grateful for the warmth to care. Gradually, the shivers subsided.

"I'm Leslie. I sell cakes…" she trailed off. Of course he knew she sold pastries – he had seen her twice now with the tray. She was quite sure now that there was nothing wong with his brain. "I brought some cakes for you to have, if you want. It doesn't look like Herroux feeds you overmuch. They're the leftovers from today. They might be a little stale, but it's what I have."

She opened the little brown bag and pulled out three large pieces of pastry. Erik looked at the flaky turnovers, his stomach growling and knotting in his stomach. Involuntarily, he reached through the bars. Leslie hastily pushed the pastries through the bars, and scuttled back away from the cage. Suddenly, Erik found that he'd lost interest in the food. She was frightened of him! He hadn't done anything to scare her, but she was obviously sure he was going to hurt her. He tried to look gentle; he tried not to feel like a wild beast being hand fed in the fair's petting zoo.

"Thank you, Leslie. I wish I had some way to pay you back, but…" he looked pointedly at his bare cage. She only shook her head, carefully keeping out of arm's reach.

"Actually, I do have a way, but you must keep it a complete secret. Will you, if I show you something special?"

Leslie nodded, wondering what the boy could possibly have in there with him. To her surprise and slowly dawning delight, he pulled himself up as straight as possible, cleared his throat and sang a sweet little song commonly sung by mothers trying to hush screaming babies.

"Sleep, baby, sleep.

Your father tends the sheep…"

Erik's repertoire consisted almost entirely of lullabies and ancient folksongs. It was all Hannah had known to teach him.

Leslie listened raptly for a little while before the song caught her entirely in its spell. She felt her eyelids grow heavy and droop. She was powerless as the warm soothing balm of his voice flowed over her. An angel she thought. I'm hearing an angel. This is what heaven must sound like. The song was over too soon. Reluctantly, she opened her eyes and smiled at him, all her fears gone.

"That was beautiful. I've never heard anyone sing like that before. Where'd you learn to do it?"

Erik was perplexed. Where had he learned? Hadn't he always sung? It was like breathing or walking. He had never stopped to think how he did it. "I don't know. I just do. Are you going to leave this blanket here? Herroux'll skin me, if you do. But it's so cold…"

She hadn't thought of that. Herroux would probably beat him, if she left the blanket tonight. But what if she brought it to him tomorrow, saying that her Mama thought it necessary to keep the boy alive? That's what she would do. She explained her plan to Erik, who regretfully unwound the blanket from his shoulders.

"Stop," she said, unable to bear the sight of his bone-thin body shivering in the night air. "I'll stay here with you a little while longer, if you want. Just leave the blanket so I can reach it, and when you fall asleep, I'll take it back. Hey, what's your name? I can't call you Devil Child…"

When his name did not pop instantly to his lips, Erik winced under his burlap. He hadn't thought of his own name in months. "Erik".

"Pleased to meet you." She curtsied clumsily. "How old are you, anyway?"

Erik thought about it. He had never known his exact birthday, but Hannah always thought it was in the Spring, and celebrated it with him on the first day of Spring each year. That would make him still seven. "I'm seven. How old are you?"

"I'm small for my age. I'm eleven, but I'll be twelve soon. Now lie on down and sleep."

Well fed and warm, Erik fell asleep quickly. When dawn pierced his eyelids he was shivering in the cold again. He knew Herroux would be there soon, followed by the crowds of customers, but he found he did not mind nearly as much. Somewhere on the fairgrounds was a person who neither feared nor hated him. The stream of crowds came and went, at some point some boys started throwing rocks at him, but he let his mind wander away to thoughts of the kind little girl who had brought him food and warmth in the night.

When the day was done, Herroux appeared and thrust a familiar piece of fabric into the cage. "Here. There's some around here that think Hell's fire isn't enough to keep you warm. God knows I don't care." Erik smiled under his burlap sack. He knew who the "some" was.