the table, got a duster, and, tenderly removing its dust, opened it. It was a large book--a book with a great, great deal of writing, and Faith wondered how soon she could find this particular story that she longed for. She could read very slowly, and very badly. She might be a long time seeing the place where Jesus blessed the babies; but here unlooked-for help was at hand. Faith's dead mother, too, had loved this special story. The place opened at the very page, and, to help Faith still further, the words were heavily marked with a pencil. Yes, it was all there; all that the ragged girl had told her yesterday. Faith had a vivid imagination, and she saw the whole picture--she saw the waiting mothers and the lovely baby children. She saw the angry disciples trying to send them away, and the face of the dear Saviour of the whole world as, taking one after the other of these lambs in His arms, He said, "Suffer the little children to come unto Me, and forbid them not, for of such is the kingdom of heaven." Faith read the story over and over until she really knew it all by heart. Yes, it was all there, but one difficulty was not over. She had read with her own eyes the story, but she saw nothing in the sacred words to help her special need--nothing about where Jesus lived now, nothing of how she, Faith, could go to Him, and ask Him to help her to find her little brother. She had less doubt than ever in her own mind of His perfect willingness to help her--of His perfect power to find Roy again. But how could she find Him? In what part of vast London did Jesus live now?