The free press., 1894-01-18

he ate, and then asked for another and
another until he had eaten a dozen.
Mary felt inclined to refuse him more
for fear he should do himself harm.
But while he was lingering the thir-
teenth, Elsie bounded into the shop,
and the man turned round with q
start and let the cheese cake fall. He
stopped to pick 1t up, and as he did SO
he beckoned to the little girl, at the
same time holding ont the confection
as bribe.
Slowly Elsie approached him. Then
turning to Mary, he asked if he might
give her the cake.
eyes," she replied, "there is
nothing in 1t to hurt her."
The man watched the little one eat
it, bending on one knee the while.
Then he arose and said
"She's little beauty, ma'am, and
I've no doubt as intelligent as she is
pretty"
About week later Mary saw the
same man hanging about just after,
dusk. When he perceived that he
was observed, he walked away. This
happened again 6 week or two later,
and she feared the man intended to
carry off her darling. Wherefore she
had Elsie conveyed secretly to a friend
in village few miles away.
Mary did not see the man again,
and was in hourly dread lest he should
find out where the child was and man
age to kidnap her. At length she re-
ceived a letter bearing Hull address,
asking her if she would give up Elsie
to her father on payment of the charges
to which she had been put for her
keep. The letter was signed "Thomas
Walker"
Mary wrote to "Walker," asking
him to call and see her if he were really
the father of Elsie.
A few days later she received q visit
from the man who had eaten the dozen
cheese-cakes Seated together in her
little sitting-room. Mary questioned
the man as to his reasons for leaving
Elsie as he did.
81 was in great trouble" he said.
"I had Just lost my wife, the little
one 8 mother, and / had been a long
time out of work. I was at my wits
end to know what to do with her, as
there was not soul L could trust her
to, penniless as / was.
"Had you no relatives who would
take charge of her?" asked Mary, in
whose mind there could be no greater
scrime than the desertion of child.
81 am the only member of my own
family living" he replied.
After pause, he continued:
81 had the misfortune to marry a
woman of whom / knew nothing and
who turned out to be drunkard.
Perhaps | did not deserve anything
better, for was then great drinker
myself. But when L saw how the
little one was neglected and ill-treated
it brought me to my senses, and L be-
came q changed man. Then my wife
died. We were in low clearinghouse
at the time, and l was penniless. The
only way out of my difficulty was to
do as I did or to let the child go into
the workhouse, and l could not do
that "
ssBut what made you leave the child
on my doorstep?" Mary asked.
81 had heard people speak we'll OF
you"
'It comes to this, then, that you did
not mind where you left the child SO
long as you got rid of her, and now,
after I had all the trouble of rearing
her and have learned to love her as
though she were my own, daughter
YOU want to take her away. You wish
to be doubly cruel-to me as well as
her"
"Oh, Mary" 'cried the man.
deeply agitated.
Mary was now moved in her turn.
ssWhat! Can it be? Are you-are
you not James Rae?"
eyes, Mary, I am" he replied.
"And it was because in my trouble
knew of no one who would be SO good
to my child as you that determined
to trust her to your care
After some further conversation IL
was arranged that Rae should see ms
L ha lIkpH and 1nHU