, he found himself walking the streets of the mill
city at ten o'clock at night, carrying a little girl in his arms and all
her earthly possessions in his pockets.

It came over him at last that the longer he kept her the more uncertain
he became as to what disposal he should make of her, or else he was more
loath to part with her; he didn't exactly know which.

Then she woke and spoke for the first time. "Me is te'bble hungry--and
firsty," she mourned.

"Good Lord! What's the matter with me?" grunted the young man. "If I had
found a cat or a dog, the first thing I would have done would be to give
'em something to eat. I reckon I must have thought I had picked up an
angel." To her he said, smoothing her hair with his free hand. "We'll
have sumpin for baby's tummy mighty quick." He flushed at sound of that
baby prattle from his lips. But it had popped out in the most natural
manner possible.

He headed for the nearest night lunch-cart. He entered with his burden.

He elbowed aside men who were eating sandwiches and pie at the counter.
With complete and rueful knowledge as to the extent of his resources,
he ordered a bowl of bread and milk--"the best you can do for a hungry
kiddie for ten cents," he added.

"Anything for yourself?" inquired the waiter.

He shook his head and paid for the child's supper with his whole
capital, two nickels. He held her on the end of the counter and,
awkwardly but with tender carefulness, fed the bread and milk to her
with a spoon. A healthy man's hunger gnawed within him and the savor of
coffee from the big, bubbling urn tantalized him. He tipped the bowl to
her lips and she drank the last of the milk with a happy little sigh,
and he went out into the night again, carrying her in his arms.

He understood all the suspicions that policemen entertain in the case
of night prowlers, and knew that they would be particularly and
meddlesomely interested in one who prowled with a child in his arms. The
child began to whimper softly. Her interest in the stranger who had
won her with a smile, her slumber in his arms, her feast in strange
surroundings, had kept her child's mind busy and pacified till then. Now
she voiced childhood's unvarying lament--"I wants my mamma!"

He soothed her as best he could, promising, giving her all manner of
assurance regarding her mother, wondering all the time what was to be
done. Why had he interfered? Why had he taken upon himself the custody
of this mite, s