le waifs and looked up at the bands of happy children
before me, and thought of the thousands more in the "Homes," and of the
multitudes which have passed through these Homes in years gone by; the
gladness and the great boon to humanity which must have resulted, and of
the terrible crime and degradation that might have been--my heart
offered the prayer, which at that moment my voice could not have
uttered--"God bless and prosper Dr Barnardo and his work!"

I hear a voice from the "Back of Beyont," or some such far off
locality--a timid voice, perhaps that of a juvenile who knows little,
and can scarce be expected to care much, about London--asking "Who is
Dr Barnardo?"

For the sake of that innocent one I reply that he is a Scavenger--the
chief of London Scavengers! He and his subordinates sweep up the human
rubbish of the slums and shoot it into a receptacle at 18 Stepney
Causeway, where they manipulate and wash it, and subject it to a variety
of processes which result, with God's blessing, in the recovery of
innumerable jewels of inestimable value. I say inestimable, because men
have not yet found a method of fixing the exact value of human souls and
rescued lives. The "rubbish" which is gathered consists of destitute
children. The Assistant Scavengers are men and women who love and serve
the Lord Jesus Christ.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

A KNOTTY QUESTION.

"Tom Blunt," said Richard Sharp, "I deny your premises, condemn your
reasoning as illogical, and reject your conclusions with scorn!"

The youth who made this remark with very considerable assurance and
emphasis was a student. His fellow-student received it with an air of
bland good-nature.

"Dick," said he, "your oratory is rotund, and if it were convincing
might be impressive; but it fails to some extent in consequence of a
certain smack of self-assertion which is unphilosophical. Suppose, now,
that we have this matter out in a calm, dispassionate manner, without
`tooth,' or egotism, or prejudice, which tend so powerfully to mar human
disputation and render it abortive."

"With all my heart, Tom," said the other, drawing close to the fire,
placing one foot against the mantelpiece, as being a comfortable, though
not elegant posture, resting his elbows on the arms of his chair, and
placing his hands in that position--with all the finger tips touching
each other--which seems, from the universal practice of civilised
society, to assist mental elucidation