She could not bear the thought of taking the child to the work-house, and kept her for six or eight weeks, but she had a sickly son, a grown lad, to support, and in dread lest she should be compelled to give her up to the parish, had applied for counsel to the lady I have mentioned.

When Mr.Drake arrived, she had for some time been searching about in vain to find a nest for her.
Since his boys had been taken from him, and the unprized girl left behind had grown so precious, Mr.Drake had learned to love children as the little ones of God.

He had no doubt, like many people, a dread of children with unknown antecedents: who could tell what root of bitterness, beyond the common inheritance, might spring up in them?
But all that was known of this one's mother was unusually favorable; and when his friend took him to see the child, his heart yearned after her.
He took her home to Dorothy, and she had grown up such as we have seen her, a wild, roguish, sweet, forgetful, but not disobedient child--very dear to both the Drakes, who called her their duckling.
As we have seen, however, Mr.Drake had in his adversity grown fearful and faint-hearted, and had begun to doubt whether he had a right to keep her.

And of course he had not, if it was to be at the expense of his tradespeople.

But he was of an impetuous nature, and would not give even God time to do the thing that needed time to be done well.