CHAPTER I

THE DESERTED CHILD

In this wide world the fondest and the best
Are the most tried, most troubled, and distressed.

--Crabbe.

"Why, woman, you are not thinking of leaving that child in this place for
us to look after, I hope! Our hands are more than full already. You say
that the child is scarcely a month old. How do you suppose that we could
give it a mother's care? More than this, the board that governs the affairs
of this institution has given us orders to accept no children under seven
months of age whose mothers are not with them. So if we should take the
child, as you say we must, you would be obliged to remain for that length
of time, at least, to help us care for it."

It was August Engler, steward of the county poorhouse in one of the eastern
counties of Pennsylvania during the sixties, that spoke these words, and
the circumstance that called forth the language was the appearance and
request of Mrs. Fischer, a well-dressed young widow. The latter had come to
the poorhouse with the intention of leaving her infant child. To this plan
Mr. Engler had objected unless she was willing to comply with the rules of
the place.

Mrs. Fischer, the mother of three little children, had recently heard that
her husband, a soldier in the Civil War, had been killed in battle, and