ow who its mother
was, and that she was paid for taking care of it. I found out, after
a good deal of talking round, and an interview with the mother of the
child who is in your daughter's sewing-class, that a girl of notoriously
bad character, named Pinky Swett, pays the baby's board. There's a
mystery about the child, and I am of the opinion that it has been
stolen, or is known to be the offcast of some respectable family. The
woman who has the care of it was suspicious, and seemed annoyed at my
questions."

"Is it a boy?" asked Mr. Dinneford.

"Yes, and has a finely-formed head and a pair of large, clear, hazel
eyes. Evidently it is of good parentage. The vicious, the sensual and
the depraved mark their offspring with the unmistakable signs of their
moral depravity. You cannot mistake them. But this baby has in its
poor, wasted, suffering little face, in its well-balanced head and deep,
almost spiritual eyes, the signs of a better origin."

"It ought at once to be taken away from the woman," said Mr. Dinneford,
in a very decided manner.

"Who is to take it?" asked the missionary.

Mr. Dinneford was silent.

"Neither you nor I have any authority to do so. If I were to see it cast
out upon the street, I might have it sent to the almshouse; but until I
find it abandoned or shamefully abused, I have no right to interfere."

"I would like to see the baby," said Mr. Dinneford, on whose mind
painful suggestions akin to those that were so disturbing his daughter
were beginning to intrude themselves.

"It would hardly be prudent to go there to-day," said Mr. Paulding.

"Why not?"

"It would arouse suspicion; and if there is anything wrong, the baby
would drop out of sight. You would not find it if you went again. These
people are like birds with their wings half lifted, and fly away at the
first warning of danger. As it is, I fear my visit and inquiries will be
quite sufficient to the cause the child's removal to another place."

Mr. Dinneford mused for a while:

"There ought to be some way to reach a case like this, and there is,
I am sure. From what you say, it is more than probable that this poor
little waif may have drifted out of some pleasant home, where love would
bless it with the tenderest care, into this hell of neglect and cruelty.
It should be rescued on the instant. It is my duty--it is yours--to see
that it is done, and that without delay. I will go at once to the mayor
and state the case. He will