The Doctor was not content, however, to show us the foundation and progress of his work. He showed us the work, as it were, completed, in the form of a band of sturdy young men in their working costume, ready to start as rescued, trained, useful, earnest labourers for the fields of Manitoba--young men who all had once been lost waifs and strays. Still further, he, as it were, put the copestone on his glorious work by presenting a band of men and women--"old boys and girls"--who had been tested by rough contact with the world and its temptations, and had come off victorious "by keeping their situations with credit" for periods varying from one to nine years--kept by the power of Christ! When I saw the little waifs and looked up at the bands of happy children before me, and thought of the thousands more in the "Homes," and of the multitudes which have passed through these Homes in years gone by; the gladness and the great boon to humanity which must have resulted, and of the terrible crime and degradation that might have been--my heart offered the prayer, which at that moment my voice could not have uttered--"God bless and prosper Dr Barnardo and his work!" I hear a voice from the "Back of Beyont," or some such far off locality--a timid voice, perhaps that of a juvenile who knows little, and can scarce be expected to care much, about London--asking "Who is Dr Barnardo?" For the sake of that innocent one I reply that he is a Scavenger--the chief of London Scavengers! He and his subordinates sweep up the human rubbish of the slums and shoot it into a receptacle at 18 Stepney Causeway, where they manipulate and wash it, and subject it to a variety of processes which result, with God's blessing, in the recovery of innumerable jewels of inestimable value. I say inestimable, because men have not yet found a method of fixing the exact value of human souls and rescued lives. The "rubbish" which is gathered consists of destitute children. The Assistant Scavengers are men and women who love and serve the Lord Jesus Christ. CHAPTER THIRTEEN. A KNOTTY QUESTION. "Tom Blunt," said Richard Sharp, "I deny your premises, condemn your reasoning as illogical, and reject your conclusions with scorn!" The youth who made this remark with very considerable assurance and emphasis was a student. His fellow-student received it with an air of bland good-nature. "Dick," said he, "your oratory is rotund, and if it were convincing might be impressive; but it fails to some extent in consequence of a certain smack of self-assertion which is unphilosophical. Suppose, now, that we have this matter out in a calm, dispassionate manner, without `tooth,' or egotism, or prejudice, which tend so powerfully to mar human disputation and render it abortive."