Faith laid him tenderly on the horse-hair sofa, covered him over, and sat down by his side.  She sat on a low seat, and, folding her hands on her lap, gazed straight before her.  Faith was nearly eleven years old now, but she was small for her age--small, thin, and very sad-looking. Only when playing with Roy, or tending Roy, did her little sallow face grow childish and happy in expression.  Faith possessed her mother's sensitive temperament.  Love alone could make this child bright and happy; without love she must pine and die, perhaps as her mother died. Tears gathered slowly in her eyes as she recalled the little scene between her father and Roy.  After a time, hearing steps in the street, she rose and went to the window.  Some children, with their parents, were walking up the street--happy children in their Sunday best, and happy parents, caring for and loving them.  Faith watched one little group with special interest.  There were four in this group--a father and mother, and boy and girl.  The girl held her father's hand, and danced as she walked.  The boy, a very little child, was led most tenderly by his mother.  Faith turned away with a great sigh, and the tears now rolled slowly down her cheeks.