Part 2 — THE LOST CHILD
Reading edition
One winter evening, when Mr. Stevenson was a young man, he was hurrying home.
The wind blew loud, and cold.
Few people were on the streets.
Mr. Stevenson thought of the supper and warm fire waiting for him at home.
He drew his coat closer about him and hurried on his way.
Suddenly, above the roar of the wind, he thought he heard a low cry.
He stopped and listened.
But he could hear only the wind blowing among the bare trees.
Again he hurried on, and again he heard the same low cry.
Once more Mr. Stevenson stopped and listened,—this time longer than before.
Yes; sure enough, there was a sad little cry—the cry of a child.
Hurrying down a side street Mr. Stevenson found the little one.
She was lost.
It was dark and she could not find her way home.
The poor child was almost frozen.
“Where do you live, my child?” asked Mr. Stevenson.
“With mother,” sobbed the little girl.
“On what street do you live, little one? Don’t you know?”
“No! no! I want my mother. Take me home. I’m so cold.”
At once Mr. Stevenson took off his heavy overcoat.
He wrapped the little one in it, just as his nurse used to wrap him up when he was a sick little boy.
Taking the child in his arms, he carried her from house to house, all night long, trying to find her home.
He never thought how cold he was without his coat.
He thought only of the little lost child.
At last he found the child’s home and left her safe in her mother’s arms. Then how happy he was!
The mother herself could not have been happier.
