"And so the heartless woman's sent for her child at last, has she?" Mr.
Engler said in a tone that might have inferred several things.

"Yes, that was her order," was the reply, and Mr. Engler left the room at
once to bring the fatherless and worse than motherless boy. The steward
smiled as he thought of the contrast between Edwin and his uncle. The
latter, a large, powerful man, was well-dressed and was apparently of a
strong will, and the peculiar light within his eye and the hard lines about
his mouth revealed the same characteristics that had been so prominent in
the mother. Edwin, on the other hand, was small for his age and hollow-eyed
from lack of sufficient food to satisfy his hunger, and his clothes were
ragged and soiled. The honest, straightforward expression of the large
brown eyes and the marks of refinement around his mouth made up, however,
for what he otherwise lacked.

In a room where several other children were playing Edwin was found, but he
was taking no part in the games. In fact, many things were done by the
children in the poorhouse day after day that he did not enjoy and in which
he would take no part. If questioned he could not have explained why he
felt as he did about their actions, but he preferred turning to the window,
where he could look out upon God's creation. The little birds that had
charmed him in his rambles had long been his friends, and as he gazed
through an open window, he could see a nest full of small fuzzy heads
waiting for the parent birds to bring them a meal of worms. Many times the
bills had been raised and the mouths opened wide because of the rustling of
the leaves above or below them, and the boy was glad when they could
realize that their expected meal was there.

In answer to Mr. Engler's order to come at once to the office, Edwin