own angel given back to her once more? The fancy was very sweet to her; but Roy opening his eyes at the moment dispelled it. Roy's eyes were blue, her baby's brown; but having for an instant thought him her very own child, she began from that instant to love him. "'Oy want Fate," said the little child, raising his head and gazing about him. "Wot's yer name, my little dear; wot they calls ye to home, I mean?" asked Hannah.--Hannah with all her roughness had a soft voice, it attracted the child to her, he sat up on the dirty bed, regarded her with decided favour, and replied in a contented voice: "Fate calls! 'Oy." "And I'd like to say Davie to yer, dear little man. May I call yer by the real beautiful name o' Davie? I 'ad a Davie of my h'own once." "A Davie of 'oor own," repeated little Roy, and now he came close and stroked the rough, red cheek. "I'll get yer some supper, my sweet little darlin'; you set still on the side o' the pretty bed, and I'll get a nice supper ready in a jiffy." The woman had no candle, but she heaped on coals with a lavish hand, and prepared a mess of bread and milk. Little Roy was very hungry; he found no fault with the tin mug, nor with the pewter spoon. He thought the woman's rough red face rather nice, and her soft tones fell warm on his baby heart. The dreadful cellar, too, with the flickering firelight making fantastic shadows on its dirty, wet walls, became as a palace in his little mind; he clapped his dimpled hands and said, "Pitty, pitty." He ceased to ask for Faith, and even twice before he had again dropped asleep, he had answered to the name of Davie. That night Hannah Searles slept again with a child clasped to her bosom. Her sleep was very sweet to her, but the morning brought fresh cares. She had now quite resolved to keep little Roy. He was not her child, she knew that, but he had been sent to her. She shut her eyes resolutely to the fact of some other woman's broken heart for the loss of him. No, if he had a mother living she must be strangely careless to allow so great a treasure to go away from her, and to be found in a public-house. But Hannah guessed that little Roy's mother was dead. If she was alive he would have spoken of his mammie, but no, he only mentioned some mysterious fate: _she_ was his real fate--she would be a mother to him, and make up to him by her love for the loss of his own.