"Yes, father," answered Faith.  She raised her dull eyes to his face. He saw not a gleam of either hope or belief in them, and, unable to endure the despair of the little daughter whom he had never loved, he pushed back his chair and left the room.  The moment he did so Faith breathed a slight sigh of relief.  She left the breakfast-table, and, getting a chair, she mounted it and took down from a high shelf an old and dusty copy of the Bible.  It was a copy she had seen in her mother's hands.  She had watched her dying mother read in this old Bible, and smile and look happy as she read.  Afterwards Faith had tried herself to read in the old book.  But one day her father, seeing it lying about, and feeling that it reminded him of his wife, who never had it very far from her side, had put it up out of the children's reach, and Faith had hitherto been too timid to dare to take it down; but there was nothing at all timid about the little girl's movements to-day.  An absorbing agony of grief and pain was filling her poor little heart to the utter exclusion of all lesser feelings.  She fetched down the old Bible from its dusty hiding-place, because it had come back to her memory in the long hours of the wakeful night she had just gone through, that the Sunday teacher who had given her that sweet and peaceful lesson the day before had said that the Bible was full of stories about Jesus.  If only she _could_ find the place where he took the babies in His arms, and was so good and kind to them.  Perhaps if she found the account of the story she might also learn how the mothers and the sisters--for surely there must have been little sad orphan sisters like her in that group--she might learn how they came to Jesus with the babies; she might find out how He was to be found now.  Her teacher had said He was not dead.  The neighbour down-stairs had said He was not dead.  Then, if that was so, would not the very best thing Faith could do be to go to Him first herself, and tell Him that Roy was lost--that he had gone quite, quite far away, and ask Him to help her to find him?  She placed the Bible on the table, got a duster, and, tenderly removing its dust, opened it.  It was a large book--a book with a great, great deal of writing, and Faith wondered how soon she could find this particular story that she longed for.  She could read very slowly, and very badly.  She might be a long time seeing the place where Jesus blessed the babies; but here unlooked-for help was at hand.  Faith's dead mother, too, had loved this special story.  The place opened at the very page, and, to help Faith still further, the words were heavily marked with a pencil.