Our little life in this world seems of little count.

Throw a stone into the sea--it makes a splash that lasts for one second, then it is all over; the waves roll on just as though it had not been dropped.
The death of this one little child, whom no one knew and for whom no one cared, was of less than no account; it made a small paragraph in the newspapers--it had caused some little commotion on the pier--just a little hurry at the work-house, and then it was forgotten.

What was such a little waif and stray--such a small, fair, tender little creature to the gay crowd?
"A child found drowned by the Chain Pier." Kind-hearted, motherly women shrugged their shoulders with a sigh.

The finding or the death of such hapless little ones is, alas! not rare.

I do not think of the hundreds who carelessly heard the words that morning there was one who stopped to think of the possible suffering of the child.