"It's a good thing you're as small as you are, and I'm as big as I am," I told the boy, taking his hands and moving in gentle, vaguely dancelike motions that would keep him from being dislodged. "How old are you, exactly?"

The boy scrunched up his face for a moment as he sorted out the proper word. "Four."

"Really? Then your English is even more remarkable than I thought. I couldn't say squat in another language when I was your age, and here you are dancing with me and chatting away like crazy. Well, all right, I'm the one doing most of the chatting, but you seem to understand what I'm saying, and as I am probably the only person on Sgt. Patty's Lonely Heart's Club Tour who has yet to hook up with either a fellow tour mate or a handsome local, you're pretty much it as far as available conversationalists go. What's your name?"

His brows pulled together again for a moment. "Geirfinnur."

"What an interesting name. I'm Pia Thomason. I'm from Seattle. Do you know where that is?"

He shook his head.

"Let's see, what's Seattle known for… Microsoft? Have you ever heard of Microsoft? Starbucks? Google?"

He shook his head again.

"Geirfinnur!" A man appeared from out of the dancers, gesticulating at my feet as he spoke in Icelandic. My dance partner reluctantly stepped off my shoes, shooting me a chastened look.

"Are you Geirfinnur's dad?" I asked, as the subject of his ire's eyes started to fill with contrite tears.

"You are English?" I could see the similarity in their faces, and the same clear grey eyes. "I am very sorry that he is behaved so poor with you."

"He wasn't behaving badly at all," I said quickly, ruffling the boy's hair. He rewarded me with a toothy grin. "In fact, just the opposite. He wandered past while I was sitting and watching everyone, and kindly kept me company and helped me eat ice cream. He speaks English so well, I'm really quite amazed at how young he is."