have seen only the sordid side of
it, the crudeness and coarseness; but the search he was on had
humanized what hitherto had only seemed a disagreeable and
objectionable side of life, and the people before him were of an odd
kinship. In their faces was hunger. There were so many kinds of hunger
in the world. He got up, and with a nod to the boy paid his bill and
went out.

Through the afternoon hours he walked steadily. Dogged determination
made him keep on, just as sensitive shrinking prevented his making
inquiries of others. It was silly to ask what couldn't be answered. He
must have been mad the night before not to have noticed where he was
going, not to have asked Carmencita her name.

By four o'clock the street-lights had been turned on, making of the
dark, dingy tenements a long lane with high, unbroken walls, and on a
corner he stood for a moment wondering which was the best way to go.
To his left were shops; he went toward them, and each face of the
children coming in or going out was scanned intently. Seeing a group
pressed close to a window in which was displayed an assortment of
dolls of all sorts and sizes, with peculiar clothing of peculiar
colors, he went toward them, stood for a moment by their side. One of
the children was the size of Carmencita.

"That's mine--that one in the pink-silk dress"--a dirty little finger
was pointed to a huge and highly decorated doll in the center of the
window--"that and the blue beads, and that box of paints with the
picture on it, and--"

"You're a pig, all right. Want the earth, don't you? Well, you can't
have it." And valiantly a child with a shawl on her head pushed closer
to the window, now clouded by the steam from many little mouths. "I
want that one--the one in long clothes with a cap on. What you want,
Lizzie Lue? Look out there and keep your elbows where they
belong"--this to the jostling, pushing crowd behind. "Come on, kid;
kick if you have to; only way you can manage some folks. Which one you
want, Lizzie Lue?" And a tiny scrap of a child was held up in arms but
little bigger than her own.

As Van Landing listened a sudden impulse to take the children in and
get for them the things they wanted came over him; then he walked
away. If only he could find Carmencita and let her do the buying. Was
Christmas like this every year? These children with no chance--was
there no one to give them their share of childhood's rights?
Settlement workers, churches, school