"No, I'm Mr. Davison," he answered with a smile. "Are you one of the Xaviersens?" he asked as Melissa nodded tearfully. "Melinda, right?"

"No, my name is Melissa," she corrected him.

"Ah yes, Melissa. I've seen you racing with your brother--Tim? No, Tom, right?" he asked.

"That's right. Tom."

"So you've skinned your knee, Melinda-er, Melissa?" he asked, looking down at her bloody leg.

"Yes," replied Melissa. The pain began to come back as she replayed the scene in her memory wincing.

"Would you like to come into ;my home and wait for me to find my bandages? An old man like me doesn't skin his knees while racing too often," he added, grinning.

"Yes, M. Davison," Melissa said. She put her little hand into his enormous one, walking slowly as the pain shot up her leg.

Melissa sat down on a small couch when they got inside and observed the house. It had a very small table, one chair, the couch Melissa was on, and a cot in the corner where Joe was to sleep. There were two pictures on the wall: one of a girl who looked almost identical to Melissa, and a woman who looked about 35. Both pictures seemed older than the pictures taken today.