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anything so m-marvelous.”
    Sara studied the lean-faced Englishman’s honest features and knew he meant what he said. Yet she, like many others, had come to see a facet of Evan’s character that apparently eluded him: a spirit that would always champion those in need, a nobility that, despite impossible odds or self-sacrifice, would somehow manage to persevere.
    Perhaps this very trait made Evan Whittaker such an ideal instrument of God’s grace. For truly, this humble man had become a source of blessing to many—not only his own family and circle of friends, but especially to those young souls who seemed to matter to no one else: the city’s homeless, unwanted children.
    â€œWell, whoever conceived it, it’s an extraordinary idea,” she said. “And you must know Father believes in this venture with all his heart, the way he’s supported you in it.”
    â€œEven though he’s still grinding his teeth over losing you from the shipyards,” Michael put in. “He hasn’t quite come to grips with it yet.”
    â€œFather says that’s his own private sacrifice for the public good,” Sara told Evan, smiling at the faint flush of pleasure that stole over his features. “He also says that Whittaker House will be filled to overflowing in no time, but he’s hoping the idea will catch on throughout the city and lead to the opening of other shelters. Obviously, you can’t begin to meet the demand that already exists.”
    Evan’s eyes clouded. “I know. Why, we’ve taken in five children just this week—and that’s in addition to B-Billy.”
    Sara nodded, glancing at little Billy Hogan, who stood at the bottom of the steps with another small boy. Both were eating cookies as they studied each other with measuring looks.
    â€œThe lad has bloomed under your care,” Michael said. “It’s good to see him looking like a normal little boy instead of a whipped pup.”
    â€œHe’s a wonderful b-boy,” Evan said. “And I think he is happy with us. But he frets in the worst way over his younger b-brothers.”
    â€œI thought one of the immigrant societies was helping Billy’s family,” Sara said.
    Evan nodded. “They are. And I think for the most part they’re m-managing well. But Billy is concerned about what will happen if Sorley Dolan should be released from prison.”
    Sara shuddered. The memory of the merciless physical abuse Dolan had inflicted on the child was still all too fresh. Dolan, who had passed himself off as Billy’s uncle—though he wasn’t actually related to the boy at all—had almost killed little Billy with his violent beatings and forced starvation.
    â€œI can’t believe they would even consider letting that barbarian out of jail!” she said, turning to Michael. “Surely he’ll be locked up for a long time.”
    Michael’s expression darkened. “Don’t count on it, Sara. It’s a wonder he’s been held as long as he has. With the jail cells packed as they are these days, there’s many a sentence being cut short.”
    â€œWell, I should hope Sorley Dolan’s won’t be one of them,” Sara said firmly.
    Evan Whittaker’s gaze went to the boys standing at the bottom of the steps. “Yes,” he said quietly. “So d-do I.”
    Again Sara turned to her husband. “Michael, there must be something you can do to make sure Dolan isn’t set free.”
    He looked at her, then shrugged. “A policeman has no influence in the courts, Sara. You know that. And the truth is, there’s no room for even half the felons we haul in. Why, if we opened ten jails tomorrow, they’d be jammed to the walls in a day, every one of them. The situation is out of control.”
    Sara shook her head in disgust. “It seems to me the entire city is out of control.”
    â€œMost of the police