The weekly messenger. [volume] (St. Martinsville [i.e. St. Martinville] La.) 1886-1948, 1890-02-15
CITY WAITS.
Taking Care of Lost Children in
the Metropolis.
Parents Seeking their Little
Ones at Police Headquarters.


A great policeman, big enough and
strong enough to have fellei a horse
with single blow, carrying in his arms
little golden haired girl, upon whose
sleeping face the tears had washed clean
places in the dust and CRIME, walked
briskly toward Police Headquarters in
New York city. The child was slumber-
ing as comfortably as though she had been
in the little crib at home, and the Off
Ger was as tender as if the little one
was his own and helped make sunshine
in his home on his days off duty. Half
dozen children of the street, quick to
catch sight of the pair, followed close
on the big policeman's heels until, says
. Sun scribe, he went up the steps to
the marble building in Mulberry street,
and was lost to view behind the swing
ing doors.
Bluff Sergeant Kelleher was on duty,
and when he saw the little bundle of
humanity brought in, he sat down at
bis desk and began to turn, in q bust
uesslike way, the leaves of an enormous
book which lay in front of him. He
kept turning until he came to the page
where he had written last. Then, after
carefully adjusting his eyeglasses, and
dipping his pen in the big inkstaud, he
queried:
"Boy or girl, officerf'
'Girl."
Elbow old Z"
"Bout four years"
"Where did you get herf'
'sixty-ff fifth street and Third avenue. {"
"Take her upstairs"
"Upstairs" meant to the top floor of
the big building where Matron Webb
presides and acts the part of foster
mother to the waits and strays and
foundlings of this big city who are
picked up by the police.
The same scenes are enacted every
night, and each day sees the pages of
the big book which Sergeant Kelleher
keeps fill up one by one with the brief
stories and records of lost children.
Every night in 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 go home, to
return again later on.
A woman comes running down the
street. She is one Of the East side poor.
A shawl answers the purpose of cloak
and hat. She stops long enough to ask
Of an idler on the corner:
"Where is the headquartersl"
"Down where you see the green
light" is always the answer and she is
off again. Up the steps she runs eager
ly. As she passes the swinging doors
she almost runs down old Joe, the door
man. who keeps little private record
on a slate of the children who are
brought in during the night. Joe's
voice is gruf, but it bellies his nature.
"What's the mattcr1" he growls.
slave ye found me babya" and the
toll worn hands clutch nervou,ly at the
frayed edges of the old red shawl
"Boy or grill"
ga little girl with light hair"
"Go upstairs and look-top floor"
The stairs are steep and tiresome to
climb, but mothers on such errands
don't tire easily. and up she coca Five
minutes later step is heard on the
stairway. 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
60 out to the street. but Old Joe again
Is in the way. "a
- II "