ween two larger boys, who were eating with a hungry eagerness
and forgetfulness of everything around them almost painful to see. He
was sitting in front of his heaped-up plate, looking at the tempting
food, with his knife and fork lying untouched on the table. There was a
dreamy, half-sad, half-bewildered look about him.

"Poor little fellow!" exclaimed Edith as soon as she saw him, and in a
moment she was behind his chair.

"Shall I cut it up for you?" she asked as she lifted his knife and fork
from the table.

The child turned almost with a start, and looked up at her with a quick
flash of feeling on his face. She saw that he remembered her.

"Let me fix it all nicely," she said as she stooped over him and
commenced cutting up his piece of turkey. The child did not look at his
plate while she cut the food, but with his head turned kept his large
eyes on her countenance.

"Now it's all right," said Edith, encouragingly, as she laid the knife
and fork on his plate, taking a deep breath at the same time, for her
heart beat so rapidly that her lungs was oppressed with the inflowing
of blood. She felt, at the same time, an almost irresistible desire to
catch him up into her arms and draw him lovingly to her bosom. The child
made no attempt to eat, and still kept looking at her.

"Now, my little man," she said, taking his fork and lifting a piece of
the turkey to his mouth. It touched his palate, and appetite asserted
its power over him; his eyes went down to his plate with a hungry
eagerness. Then Edith put the fork into his hand, but he did not know
how to use it, and made but awkward attempts to take up the food.

Mrs. Paulding, the missionary's wife, came by at the moment, and seeing
the child, put her hand on him, and said, kindly,

"Oh, it's little Andy," and passed on.

"So your name's Andy?"

"Yes, ma'am." It was the first time Edith had heard his voice. It fell
sweet and tender on her ears, and stirred her heart strangely.

"Where do you live?"

He gave the name of a street she had never heard of before.

"But you're not eating your dinner. Come, take your fork just so. There!
that's the way;" and Edith took his hand, in which he was still
holding the fork, and lifted two or three mouthfuls, which he ate with
increasing relish. After that he needed no help, and seemed to forget in
the relish of a good dinner the presence of Edith, who soon found others
who needed her service.

The plentiful meal wa