It was soon discovered that the boy had mistaken number forty-one for fourteen, and many other similar mistakes occurred, owing to the ignorance of the children. But there were many willing helpers, and at last the business was settled. Each child received a toy and a warm article of clothing. For a few minutes the uproar was deafening, with the blowing of whistles, shaking of tambourines, beating of drums, etc., as each child proceeded to try his own particular toy. Willie had been fortunate enough to obtain a box of soldiers and a pair of warm knitted cuffs, which were tried on and much admired by Gladys, while Bob was the happy possessor of a tin whistle and a thick woollen comforter. "Wear it home," said Miss Elton, smiling at him; "you will find out how warm it is." It was late when the children separated, tired and happy. It was an evening never to be forgotten by them, and years after, when they had grown up to be men and women, some of them hardened by sin, this Christmas treat at the mission school stood out in their memories as the one piece of happiness in their miserable lives. CHAPTER VI LITTLE BERTRAM "Arthur," said Miss Elton to her brother, as they sat by the fire that evening talking over the events of the day, "has it ever occurred to you that there is a striking likeness between that little Willie Brown and our Gladys?" "No, dear," was the answer, "I cannot say that it has. I have often thought him very superior to the other children, and he is not in the least like his brother Bob." "Well, Nora Graham called my attention to the fact this afternoon, and it has haunted me ever since. Do you think, Arthur, it _could_ be by any chance? Little Bertram would have been just about his age now," wistfully. "My dear Winnie," returned her brother, "I should not allow myself to raise any such hopes on that point if I were you. You have been disappointed so often." "Still," she persisted, "there is just a chance, and we dare not leave a single stone unturned to find poor Marion's boy." "No," he replied, "but we have so little to go upon. It is four years now since Marion died, and the only clue we could have at all is that tiny mark upon the shoulder." "Well," she said, "if I go and see the child and find out what I can from him, will you go to Primrose Place and see if you can trace anything of his parents?" "Certainly I will," was the answer. "You know, dear, I am as anxious to find the child as you are. It maddens one to think of the little chap being brought up in one of those filthy alleys. I don't wonder it killed his mother." "No, indeed," said Miss Elton, her eyes filled with tears. "Poor Marion!"