True, he had not knowingly inflicted suffering upon anyone, but he had by his self-absorption and disinterest in affairs outside his own household been guilty of criminal negligence. It was he, and men like him, who had permitted such a state of affairs as had been revealed on the Grimes farm to exist year after year for the enrichment of some criminal or abnormal person at the expense of helpless little children. Why had it not been discovered and investigated? Peter Grimes was ignorant, abnormal and irresponsible. Dying, he spoke the truth. He literally knew no better. But Harris Wayne knew better. He, who had professed to love children, had done nothing whatever for any child in the world other than his own. He had not even made the search for little Stephen that he knew he ought to have made. He was the one actually responsible for the little boy's unhappy, wasted years. If Stephen had been traced and located all these other children might have been spared suffering and the lives of those saved that had perished for lack of food and care. That such horrors should have existed unsuspected and unmolested in his own township, seemed a crime in which he and every citizen like him were participants. He wanted to do something to atone for his selfishness and indifference. Something to make other children as happy and content as this tattered, neglected little girl had made his baby. He had prated of the inadequacy of hireling service as compared with that actuated solely by love but he had viewed the matter from only one side--his side. He wanted someone to love his child and give to her unselfish devotion but it had never occurred to him that other children might also be suffering for lack of affection. This little girl had been starved of love and care all during her childhood. She had realized it and in her way had tried to supply to other little ones that for which she, herself, had yearned. He crossed to where she was sitting and lifted his sleeping baby into her crib. Then he took Mollie's little brown hand in his and stroked it tenderly. "Little girl," he said, "to-morrow there is much that I shall want to talk to you about. You have done more for me--and for little children--than you, perhaps, realize. I shall not try to thank you now. In fact I never will be able to thank you enough for what you have done. But I want you to feel that this house is your home. I want to see you happy--very, very happy. I have been selfish to-night in keeping you up till this hour. I should have brought you with us the first time. Now, the baby is sleeping and I want you to go with the nurse and let her make you as comfortable as you have made Doris. She will bandage your poor, bruised feet and get you everything necessary for the present. To-morrow we will talk about the future."