Cast Adrift Part 43

"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.

Edith's face had become pale, and her father felt her hand tremble as she laid it on his arm.

At this moment a man came up hurriedly to Mrs. Paulding, and said, with manifest concern,

"Have you seen Andy, ma'am? I've been looking all over, but can't find him."

"He was here a little while ago," answered the missionary's wife. "We were just speaking of him. I thought you'd taken him home."

"Mr. Hall!" said Edith's father, in a tone of glad recognition, extending his hand at the same time.

"Mr. Dinneford!" The two men stood looking at each other, with shut lips and faces marked by intense feeling, each grasping tightly the other's hand.

"It is going to be well with you once more, my dear old friend!" said Mr. Dinneford.

"G.o.d being my helper, yes!" was the firm reply. "He has taken my feet out of the miry clay and set them on firm ground, and I have promised him that they shall not go down into the pit again. But Andy! I must look for him."

And he was turning away.

"I saw Andy a little while ago," now spoke up a woman who had come in from the street and heard the last remark.

"Where?" asked Mr. Hall.

"A girl had him, and she was going up Briar street on the run, fairly dragging Andy after her. She looked like Pinky Swett, and I do believe it was her. She's been in prison, you know but I guess her time's up."

Mr. Hall stopped to hear no more, but ran down stairs and up the street, going in the direction said to have been taken by the woman. Edith sat down, white and faint.

"Pinky Swett!" exclaimed Mrs. Paulding. "Why, that's the girl who had the child you were looking after a long time ago, Mr. Dinneford."

"Yes; I remember the name, and no doubt this is the very child she had in her possession at that time. Are you sure she has been in prison for the last two years?" and Mr. Dinneford turned to the woman who had mentioned her name.

"Oh yes, Sir; I remember all about it," answered the woman. "She stole a man's pocket-book, and got two years for it."

"You know her?"

"Oh yes, indeed! And she's a bad one, I can tell you. She had somebody's baby round in Grubb's court, and it was 'most starved to death. I heard it said it belonged to some of the big people up town, and that she was getting hush-money for it, but I don't know as it was true. People will talk."

"Do you know what became of that baby?" asked Edith, with ill-repressed excitement. Her face was still very pale, and her forehead contracted as by pain.

"No, ma'am. The police came round asking questions, and the baby wasn't seen in Grubb's court after that."

"You think it was Pinky Swett whom you saw just now?"

"I'm dead sure of it, sir," turning to Mr. Dinneford, who had asked the question.

"And you are certain it was the little boy named Andy that she had with her?"

"I'm as sure as death, sir."

"Did he look frightened?"