“No, no, mammy, mammy!” all in a tremor of affright clinging closer, and raining wild, sweet kisses upon her face. This was a kind of eloquence that neither the gentleman nor lady could withstand. The homely but pathetic cry of “mammy,” ran like a thrill of music through the young woman’s heart. Her eyes swam in a tearful mist; her cheeks flushed with the hidden sweetness of a word never applied to her before. She had no power to force the child away, but drew him closer and closer to her bosom. “Let me take him!” said the husband, with a troubled smile. He reached forth his arms. Eddie lifted his head and eyed him with a sidelong glance, while he loosened one arm from the lady’s neck, and clung closer with the other. “Come, my little shaver, and see what I’ve got for you.” The boy bent slightly forward, and at length allowed himself to be taken, searching the gentleman’s face earnestly all the time. But when a motion was made as if to place him on the floor, the gentleman found his neck suddenly encircled by those two loving arms, and the little, tearful face was laid confidingly on his shoulder. “Take me home—take me home,” pleaded the sweet voice. “Couldn’t we take him home and decide after?” pleaded the lady, with gentle feminine tact, “It will be a pleasant visit for the poor child, if nothing more.” “He seems bent upon it,” answered the gentleman; laughing, and rather pleased with this half measure. “I think you could hardly get him from me yourself, Mattie.” The lady only laughed. She had no desire to weaken the effect already produced by the caressing helplessness of the little orphan, by claiming more than an equal share in his preference. “Well, then, let us go,” she said, in haste to have the child all to themselves. “First, let us inquire about him. Perhaps he has parents or friends to interfere. In that case, you know, it would be out of the question.” The young wife looked very grave at this, and the cloud of anxiety did not leave her face till it was ascertained at the superintendent’s office that Edward was an orphan, his father unknown, if living, and his mother’s death recorded in the hospital books at Bellevue. Thus accidentally, and almost from an affectionate caprice, this poor human waif was taken from his home in the nurseries; and when Mary Margaret came with her eager love on the visiting-day, leading little Terry by the hand—who was the bearer of a great orange for his foster-brother—the child was gone. This was a terrible blow to the good nurse. But when she heard that Eddie had gone off with an undoubted gentleman and lady, and that a splendid private carriage had waited for them at the ferry, she was, to an extent, consoled, though this was all the positive knowledge the laws of the institution allowed her to obtain.