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I pushed the bushes aside, and there sat a skinny young boy, maybe a toddler, with matted curly dark brown hair, hollow cheeks, and rags for clothes.

I froze in shock until I finally found the words to say, "Hello, my name's Cleo. . . what's yours?" I spoke as softly and calmly as possible.

He blinked his pretty grey eyes at me. "Mateo."

. . .

Imagine a half-eaten apple flies through the air and smacks you on the head. There's nobody around and no way for anyone to hide. Then, it happens again the next day and you do some searching and find a small child.

Would you take him in? Help him find his parents?