DR. CHARLES R. HENDERSON, President of the National Children's Home Society.

Few people, even those who are engaged in charitable work, realize the magnitude and importance of the work of the National Children's Home Society.

This new Society, which is only twenty-one years old, has become the greatest Child Placing Agency in the United It has spread from state to state until there are now twenty-six Societies covering twenty-nine states. Each Society is independent but is federated with its sister Societies in the "National Children's Home Society."

The National Children's Home Society exercises no arbitrary control over the constituent Societies but the central organization exercises a strong influence through advisory co-operation.

The National Children's Home Society employs the services of more than two hundred people. It has cared for about 25,000 homeless children, of whom more than 12,000 are still under its guardian care, in family homes. It is now caring for about 4,000 children yearly. It maintains twenty-five Receiving Homes for the temporary care of its Wards. These Receiving Homes are all small institutions the average number of children in them being only about 500.

The united expenses of the twentysix Societies which comprise the Na

tional Children's Home Society were about $250,000 last year and the Societies have accumulated property in Receiving Homes, indemnity, etc., to the value of over $300,000.

There has been a steady evolution of the work and methods of the Society. At the beginning the Society was without constituents or revenue. Its founder, Rev. M. V. B. Van Arsdale, sometimes had to borrow money to get out of town in places which he visited to collect money for the organization.

The work was viewed with doubt and sometimes distrust and suspicion by the people who were already engaged in the work of Orphan Asylums, Children's Homes, etc.

Mr. Van Arsdale seized upon the idea which had already been developed by Rev. Charles L. Brace of New York City, that the best possible Home for a homeless child was a selected family home.

Mr. Brace had followed the plan of carrying children West in car-load lots and distributing them somewhat promiscuously to people who were willing to receive them. Mr. Van Arsdale adopted the plan of handling children one by one, giving the largest practicable amount of attention to the placing and supervision of the child. He districted the State of Illinois, appointed permanent local boards throughout the State. This plan of districts and local advisory boards has been adopted in other States as the work has developed.

In the early days of the National Children's Home Society children were accepted with a good deal of freedom from parents who were willing to give them up. As the work has developed the Societies have grown more cautious of relieving parents of their responsibilities and more anxious to help good parents to care for their children rather than to transfer them to the care of alien ones.

It has been the policy of the Society to receive only children that were proper subjects for the placing-out plan, leaving the Orphan Asylums, Children's Homes, etc., to care for children whose parents were in temporary distress and who were likely to return to their parents, and leaving to other agencies the task of meeting temporary and accidental necessities of children who were not to be placed in homes. In recent years, however, the work of the Children's Home Society has been broadening. In Illinois, Wisconsin, Kentucky and other states the Society has been gradually undertaking the general work of caring for all children who are in distress. It is the rule of the Illinois Society that

any one who is in trouble about a child may come to the Society and it will undertake the solution of the trouble.

With the development of the Children's Home Society there has come a constant gain in the quality of the work performed, partly through the experience acquired by those who have now been in the work for many years, and partly through the improvement in the quality of those who are chosen for the immediate work of caring for children. The work requires a high degree of intelligence, experience and adaptability, The problems to be solved involve the entire future of the children, and decisions must often be made by the agent under circumstances which forbid communication with his superior are often crucial in their effects. The agents have also to be people of such character, intelligence and presence as to command the respect, not only of those who need their kindly offices, but also of the bountiful people of the community and public officials.

It has come to be recognized that this work is worthy of the consecration of the best people who are to be found. It is impossible to predict the future of this great organization. It has already become an important factor in legislation and guides public policy in Child Saving work in states like Illinois, Wis

"It is so important, Philip, but I think I see my way out. I've about decided upon a plan."

"Yes?"

Philip Holley's eyes did not leave the close lines of his newspaper, and his voice had the quality of abstraction well defined in it. The small woman across the table breathed a gentle sigh.

"But, Philip, don't you want me to tell you my plan? It seems such a prudent one. If you would put down. that newspaper-no, I think I'd rather you folded it up and sat on it. Then you couldn't be tempted."

"Then here she goes, little tormentor," laughed the big man, following out her program to the letter. He held out his hands to her, and she went round the table to her seat on his knee.

"You're all the chick and child I want," he declared comfortably. "I suppose that's what's up, hey? Well, have you decided to adopt a boy?"

"Mercy, no! Do you think that's such a simple matter? And I've only been trying to decide such a little while."

"Only a matter of a few months or so," he murmured.

"Sh, don't interrupt. Your part in the play is to listen. This is my plan; I'm going to take a little boy and a little girl on probation (don't say a word yet), and see which I like best. I shall be able to tell after six weeks, I know. It will pay to be cautious. Now speak."

But Philip Holley only pinched together the little woman's earnest features, and lifted them to his whimsical, tender gaze. He was used to the little woman.

"I've got my lines out, you know, Philip; dear me, yes, plenty of them! There's Alvie Byron keeping her eyes open for a blessed little boy with blue eyes. She's trustee or something of the Little Friendless Home-I'd like to adopt a little friendless child, Philip."

"Yes, dear."

How Katie and Jem looked after six weeks with the little woman.

The look in the little woman's face was like the look the old masters tried to put in their Madonna's faces. Philip Holley had seen it there before.

"Yes, dear," he said gently.

"And then I've written Peace Hathaway to find me a little dark-eyed, curly-cropped girl among her little orphans, you know. She wrote me once the world seemed to her sometimes to be full of little wistful, lean-faced orphans. I'd like to adopt one of those, and-mother it, Philip."

"Yes, dear."

"Well, then, it's decided," the little woman continued, briskly. "And such a relief as it is! Now I can take six weeks to decide in, and you can take your newspaper again, patient boy."

It was a beautiful home the little woman ruled. It was full of wide, airy spaces and nooks and corners where little children love to hide. But no little children had ever hidden there and leaped out in triumph with shrieks. of shrill, sweet glee. No little children's feet had ever tapped up and down the polished. halls. The little woman had borne the silence with wistful patience until she could bear it no longer.

"There shall be a little child there," she had said, quietly. And Philip had acquiesced with grave readiness. Philip was used to acquiescing in the whimsies of the little woman. It had been the big man's pleasure for twenty years.

The newspaper's crisp pages crackled unimpeded for a long space, while the little woman rocked back and forth in her low rocker, dreaming of the little boy-or would it be the little. girl?-coming by any by. She broke the stillness after a while.

"I guess, after all, I won't wait for Peace or Alvie, Philip," she said, musingly. "I don't want to wait. I'll go myself tomorrow, and find the boy and girl to choose from. I want the probation to begin right away. Philip"

"Well, little tormentor?"

"It's so quiet in the house! You don't know how hungry I get to hear a regular little child-racket. I want to tie up little bruises, and pick up little toys, as other women do, Philip; don't you see?"

"Yes, I see, little woman," Philip Holley said.

On the next day the little woman went out on her quest. It was not a long one. As Peace had said, the world seemed to be full of little motherless ones with lean, wistful faces. They sprang up on every side, and peered up into the little woman's tender face. it was only hard to choose among them.

"I had to take Katie and I had to take Jem-and I wanted to take all the rest," she explained to Philip at the day's close.

Katie was tiny and thin and shy. Jem was sturdy and ragged, with little hard, brown fists. He had been using them when the little woman found him, and the lofty smile of a conqueror was on his small, soiled face.

"Me? I ain't got no mudder," he had volunteered to her inquiries. "Nor no fadder, too. I take care o' myself. It's easy' nough-huh!-takin'

care o' yerself, when yer ain't hungry her seat on Philip's knee. Her face an' it don't never rain."

Jem's face had waxed sober over the last thought.

"You're never hungry, and it don't never rain where I live; would you like to go there, Jem?" the little woman had said in her gentle voice.

The boy's eyes were blue. It was a little blue-eyed boy she had wanted. His self-reliant little face was full of the curves and baby creases that mothers like to kiss.

"Would you, Jem?"

"Me? Oh, I do' know, but I'd go," he said reflectively, "if yer sure as there ain't no cops live there, an' there's a hunky lot to eat twicet a day, 'thout any skips."

"I'll go, too," an eager voice had said in the little woman's ear; and Katie's fingers had slid into hers confidingly. That was why she had been obliged to take Katie.

"Haven't you any mother, dear?" the little woman had asked, looking down into the neglected little face. "Mother? Me? Oh, no, I ain't got any mother. I didn't have any, ever. Are are they like you? I saw a picture once of one. It was to a church, an' she was huggin' a little baby. I'd a liked to b'long to her. You'd ougter seen how shiny an'-an'-lovin' her eyes was. Like yours is. I'd like to go with Jemmy an' b'long to you."

was a curious study.

"I've put them all to bed, Philip," she laughed, softly. "Two bedsful. You'd be surprised to see how natural it comes to tuck them in!-as if I'd always tucked little children in. Yes, O yes, I'm going to take them all on probation. I've decided. It makes so many more to choose from; only, of course, I can't keep Jeanie. Poor Jeanie! I asked her to kiss me tonight, and she didn't know how. And Philip"

"Yes, dear, what say?"

"When I showed her, she smiled all over her homely little face. 'How good that do feel!' she said. No, O no, I can't adopt Jeanie; but I can teach her what kissing means. Katie knew; she told me a man kissed her once and she believed his name was God-O Philip!"

"Yes, dear."

He rocked her gently and let her cry. It was still in the pretty, luxurious room; for the little woman made no sound. Upstairs the four little heads rested for the first time on soft pillows, and on the four little faces smiles played happily. Jeanie threw out a little arm and muttered how good it felt.

"I shall keep them all the six weeks, Philip-it will be a little sunspot in their lives-and then I shall choose our little child 'for keeps.' How And Katie had gone with Jemmy to queer it sounds, Philip-our little the little woman's beautiful home. child! Jem is such a manly little felShe had not meant to choose from, low. You can see it underneath all the streets, but her path had crossed his poor little street talk. Aud BubJem's and little Katie's on the way to sie-that's Alvie's boy-is so sweet! the Little One's Home, where she had And Katie-O Katie you will be sure thought to choose from the files of to like, Philip. Do you know, the little clean-washed, aproned children. funny little thing called me 'mother' On the way home she had carefully tonight, and she began it with a big explained her plan. M, Philip, as they do the holy mothers. I could hear it in her voice."

"It is for a little visit, you know,' she said kindly. "You must not expect to always stay. I cannot promise; we must all wait and see."

Philip met her at the door. His kind, grave eyes regarded the little shabby pair. Then he looked into the little woman's face and smiled.

"Alvis Byron had sent the boy with blue eyes," he said. "He's upstairs. I am not sure, but I think he came by express."

And the next day Peace Hathaway sent the little dark-eyed girl! A note was pinned to her plain little dress. "This is Jeanie," it read. "She isn't pretty; she's homely; but I've sent her. Love her a little; a very little will go a long way with Jeanie. She has lived seven years, but no one has

ever loved her."

The evening of that day the little woman went round the table again to

There was a space of silence, while the rocker creaked under the big man's weight and the little woman's. The soft light in the room shone in both their faces.

"It sounded strange to be called 'mother,' Philip," laughed the little woman, unsteadily, after a moment; "but it sounded good. I really liked

it."

The weeks of probation filed by swiftly. Every day the great, beautiful house was full of children's voices and the hurry-skurry of children's clattering little feet. There was a continual tumult of children's voices.

When Philip Holley came home at night, he met the clamor on the threshold and smiled good-humoredly. He grew to like it and to miss it if it failed to greet his ear. He got in the way of filling his great-coat pockets with fruit and standing patiently in

the great lighted hall while the four pairs of little hands rummaged for it in delight. That was all. He never caressed the little probationers or joined in their play, as fathers do. He had never had any practice in being a father, and a queer shyness took possession of him that the little woman mistook for indifference. She was very busy and happy herself, and Philip's attitude was a source of grief to her, until, one night toward the end of the probation, she came upon him making a tour of the little beds with the lighted night-candle in his hand. Then she understood.

"Dear boy!" she murmured, and stole away without his seeing her.

The daintily curtained little beds were white as snow in the candlelight, and the childish faces on the pillows were fair and sweet as other children's. There were no traces of the corruption of the street in them.

It was the boys' bed that Philip visited first, and the little white bed where Katie slept, and homely little Jeanie. He bent and kissed Jeanie's face.

So, too fast, the weeks numbered four, five, six. It was time to make the great decision, and the little woman grew excited and nervous. She had thought it would be so easy to decide after so long, and it was so hard! She watched the children all day long and tried to take calm note of their individual traits and their little tricks and ways. She gloried in Jem's sturdy independence.

"I will keep Jem," she said. Then some winning way of Katie's attracted her, and drew her swiftly to the standard of the shy little maiden who called her mother.

"I must keep Katie," she said. And when Alvis' boy, blue-eyed little Bubsie, laughed his high, clear trill of delight, the little woman, listening, said, "I will keep Bubsie." She never said "I will keep Jeanie,"-poor, homely little Jeanie! But the child nestled against her breast and drew deep. breaths of contentment. The birth of love in it had almost redeemed her plain, imperfect little face.

"Of course I shall not keep Jeanie, Philip," the little woman said; "but I love the little thing, homeliness and all. You can't think it's like an answered prayer in her face every night when I kiss her, 'How good it do feel!' she murmurs in her sleep."

It was the last night of the six probation weeks.

"I suppose you'll be telling me which little shaver has passed the examination, soon," Philip said, smiling. "I haven't decided yet. It's so important, Philip! It gets harder and harder to decide. But I shall do it