The Dickinson press., 1889-12-21
LOST, A LITTLE CHILD.
How tho City's Waits Arc Cared for Until
They Are Called For.

They Are Called For.
A great policeman, big enough and
strong enough to have fclled a horse
with a single blow, carrying in his arms
a little golden haired girl, upon whose
sleeping face the tears had washed clean
places in the dust and CRIME, walked
briskly down Houston street toward po-
lice headquarters. The child was slum-
boring as comfortably as though she had
been in the little crib at home, and the
officer was as tender as if the little one
was his own and helped make sunshine
in his home on his days off duty. Half
a dozen children of the street, quick to
catch sight of the pair, followed closely ON
the big policeman's heels until he went
up the steps of the marble building in
Mulberry street, and WAS lost to view be-
hind the swinging doors.
Bluff Scrgt. Kellchcr WAS on duty, and
when he saw the little bundle of human
ity brought in, he sat down at his desk
and began to turn, in a busincsslike way,
the leaves of an enormous book which
lay in front of him. lie kept turning
until he came to the page where he had
written last. Then, after carefully adj
justing his eyeglasses, and dipping his
pen in his big i%nkstamd, he qucricd:
boy or girl, oficery
Girl"
How old:"
"'Bout 4 years"
"Wherc did you get hcr?'
"SiXty-iifth street and Third avenue"
Take her upstairs"
"Upstairs' meant to the top floor of
the big building, where Matron Webb
prcsidcs and acts the part of foster
mother to the waits and strays and
foundlings of this big city who are pick
ed up by the police.
The same scenes are enacted every
night, and each day sees the pagcsof the
big book, which Seryst. Kellrhcr keeps,
fill UP one by one with the brief stories
and records of lost children.
Every night i'll the year fathers and
mothers visit police headquarters and
ask for the children who have been lost
during the day. On pleasant evenings
they sit on the stone steps and wait if
the child has not already been found,
and ON stormy nights they so home, to
return again later on.
y. woman comes running down the
street. She is one of the East Side poor.
"A shawl the purpose of cloak
and hat. She stops long enough to ask
of an idlcr on the corner:
"Wherc is the headquarters"
"Down where you see the green light"
is always the answer, and she is off
again. Up the steps she runs eagerly.
AS she passes the swinging doors she al
most runs down Old Joe, the doorman,
who keeps a little private record on a
slate of the children who are brought in
during the night. Joc's voice is gruff,
but it bellies his nature.
whats the matter?' he growls.
"IIavc yc found me baby and the
toll Worn hands clutch %ncrvously at the
fraycd edges of the old rcd shawl.
boy or girl"
"a little girl with light hair"
$50 up stairs and look-top floor"
The stairs arc steep and tiresome to
climb, but mothers on such crrands don't
tire easily, and up she goes. Five min
utes later a step is heard on the stair
way. She is coming down again and
the red shawl is the background for a
head of golden hair. Two dirty, chubby
hands are about her neck. The woman
is smiling now. She is about to go out
to the street, but Old Joe again is in the
way.
Go in there and give your NAME"
and he points to Sergt. Kclleher, and
chirrups at the baby.
The sergeant takes the woman's name
and address, and, hugsing the lost one
tightly, the woman passes out into the
street.--New York Evening Sun.