the city, he always had time for his beloved and motherless daughter.

"When I was coming from down town this afternoon," she began, "a very
small girl with a very large package in her arms stepped aboard the
car. Her face was so sweet and innocent that one would notice it even in
a crowd, but overshadowed by an expression of care far too heavy for her
baby years. Her eyes were large, dark and unusually lustrous, while her
wavy brown hair fell about her face and neck in rich profusion. Her
clothing was scant and old, but clean and very neatly mended. The whole
appearance of the child was so pathetically irresistible that I went and
sat down by her side, taking her cold little hand within my own.

"She talked freely, telling me that her name is Rosa Browning. As I now
recall the conversation, I find that I know but little indeed of her
actual circumstances, and nothing at all of the location of her home.

"She spoke most tenderly now and then of 'grandpa', and occasionally
mentioned 'Mis' Gray', who, I imagine, is not specially noted for her
amiability. But oh, father, when she would refer to her mother, it
seemed that her heart was almost crushed with anxiety, and that her
burden was greater than she could bear!"

With tears still flowing, Esther then told of Rosa's bewilderment
concerning her mother's rumored moving, and of her own efforts to
explain what this moving probably meant.

The strong man, accustomed as he was to the tales of woe and misery
among the poor and outcast, bowed his head and wept also. The pathos of
the child's simple, direct questions impressed him quite as much as it
had Esther.