If God were to be his helper, he must be honest, and work.

To this conviction he had come.
But what was to be done with Andy while he was away trying to earn something?
The child might get hurt in the street or wander off in his absence and never find his way back.

The care he felt for the little one was pleasure compared to the thought of losing him.
As for Andy, the comfort of a good breakfast and the feeling that he had a home, mean as it was, and somebody to care for him, made his heart light and set his lips to music.
When before had the dreary walls of that poor hovel echoed to the happy voice of a light-hearted child?
But there was another echo to the voice, and from walls as long a stranger to such sounds as these--the walls in the chambers of that poor man's memory.

A wellnigh lost and ruined soul was listening to the far-off voices of children.

Sunny-haired little ones were thronging about him; he was looking into their tender eyes; their soft arms were clinging to his neck; he was holding them tightly clasped to his bosom.
"Baby," he said.