Part 43 (1/2)

”Now, my little man,” she said, taking his fork and lifting a piece of the turkey to his mouth. It touched his palate, and appet.i.te a.s.serted its power over him; his eyes went down to his plate with a hungry eagerness. Then Edith put the fork into his hand, but he did not know how to use it, and made but awkward attempts to take up the food.

Mrs. Paulding, the missionary's wife, came by at the moment, and seeing the child, put her hand on him, and said, kindly,

”Oh, it's little Andy,” and pa.s.sed on.

”So your name's Andy?”

”Yes, ma'am.” It was the first time Edith had heard his voice. It fell sweet and tender on her ears, and stirred her heart strangely.

”Where do you live?”

He gave the name of a street she had never heard of before.

”But you're not eating your dinner. Come, take your fork just so. There!

that's the way;” and Edith took his hand, in which he was still holding the fork, and lifted two or three mouthfuls, which he ate with increasing relish. After that he needed no help, and seemed to forget in the relish of a good dinner the presence of Edith, who soon found others who needed her service.

The plentiful meal was at last over, and the children, made happy for one day at least, were slowly dispersing to their dreary homes, drifting away from the better influences good men and women had been trying to gather about them even for a little while. The children were beginning to leave the tables when Edith, who had been busy among them, remembered the little boy who had so interested her, and made her way to the place where he had been sitting. But he was not there. She looked into the crowd of boys and girls who were pressing toward the door, but could not see the child. A shadow of disappointment came over her feelings, and a strange heaviness weighed over her heart.

”Oh, I'm so sorry,” she said to herself. ”I wanted to see him again.”

She pressed through the crowd of children, and made her way down among them to the landing below and out upon the street, looking this way and that, but could not see the child. Then she returned to the upper rooms, but her search was in vain. Remembering that Mrs. Paulding had called him by name, she sought for the missionary's wife and made inquiry about him.

”Do you mean the little fellow I called Andy?” said Mrs. Paulding.

”Yes, that's the one,” returned Edith.

”A beautiful boy, isn't he?”

”Indeed he is. I never saw such eyes in a child. Who is he, Mrs.

Paulding, and what is he doing here? He cannot be the child of depraved or vicious parents.”

”I do not think he is. But from whence he came no one knows. He drifted in from some unknown land of sorrow to find shelter on our inhospitable coast. I am sure that G.o.d, in his wise providence, sent him here, for his coming was the means of saving a poor debased man who is well worth the saving.”

Then she told in a few words the story of Andy's appearance at Mr.

Hall's wretched hovel and the wonderful changes that followed--how a degraded drunkard, seemingly beyond the reach of hope and help, had been led back to sobriety and a life of honest industry by the hand of a little child cast somehow adrift in the world, yet guarded and guided by Him who does not lose sight in his good providence of even a single sparrow.

”Who is this man, and where does he live?” asked Mr. Dinneford, who had been listening to Mrs. Paulding's brief recital.

”His name is Andrew Hall,” was replied.

”Andrew Hall!” exclaimed Mr. Dinneford, with a start and a look of surprise.

”Yes, sir. That is his name, and he is now living alone with the child of whom we have been speaking, not very far from here, but in a much better neighborhood. He brought Andy around this morning to let him enjoy the day, and has come for him, no doubt, and taken him home.”

”Give me the street and number, if you please, Mr. Paulding,” said Mr.

Dinneford, with much repressed excitement. ”We will go there at once,”

he added, turning to his daughter.