No regard was paid to his eager little voice, and his cries and distress were redoubled. Where was Faith? What did it all mean? He was confused, frightened, pained. He could not comprehend how or why. Turning his back at last to the inhospitable closed door, and standing, a pitiable little object, with all his golden curls lying in a tangled mass on his forehead, he saw a welcome light in another part of the room. This light came from the door which opened on to the passage, and was but very seldom used. Now, through some accident, it was about an inch or two ajar. Roy saw the light in the passage beyond, and ran to it with a glad cry. When he got there, the thought entered his baby head that he would go and look for Faith. His father had turned him away; his father had hurt him and not been at all nice. Roy, heaving a great sob, felt he did not at all understand his father. Yes; he would go and look for Faith. When she was neither in the sitting-room nor in the bedroom she was out. He would go out to look for her, for _she_ was always very nice. Down step after step he stumbled, no one meeting him, no one observing. Down the long hall at the end he ran, and out through the open door. His head uncovered, his little round arms bare, he ran quickly away from his home. A baby of two years to be lost in the London streets! CHAPTER FIVE. When Faith came in a few moments later, she found her father pacing up and down the room. His anger and vexation were still burning hot; he was still in his heart wishing that Roy were an older child, so that he might punish him more severely. It was a great relief to see Faith's pale, anxious little face. Yes, without any doubt Faith was the real culprit. On Faith then should the full vials of his wrath fall. "See what you have done," he said; "come here, right over here, and see what you have done." Faith, her face growing a shade whiter, approached and saw the scattered pieces of the prize essay still lying on the floor. "Wot h'ever is that, father?" she ventured to say. "What ever is that? 'tis my essay, my prize essay, that your brother tore all into bits. How dare you, how dare you, I say, disobey me and leave the child alone? You have done mischief that can never be put right, and I'll never forgive you." "Oh! father," said Faith piteously. She went on her knees and took some of the tiny torn fragments into her hand. "There! don't touch them; 'tis jest enough to madden a man, but you shall suffer. If you can't take care of the child, some one else shall. Yes, you shan't hear the last of this. Now, tell me where you have been this hour and more."