mong the sufferers, but he shook his head.
All his little patients were mere infants; he did not even know the
trots by sight.

'Then mamma suggested another very reasonable explanation of their
disappearance.

'"They have probably left St. Austin's," she said. "Many people come
here for only the _very_ worst of the winter, and that is about over
now."

'But even this did not satisfy me. I was certain something was wrong
with Doll and Dot, and I wasted, I should be ashamed to say how many
hours gazing out of the window in hopes of catching sight of the
familiar little figures.

'At last, one day, when I had almost left off hoping ever to see them
again, suddenly, _two_ figures appeared on the Esplanade, a stone's
throw from our window.

'Who were they? Could it be--yes, it must be _one_ of the trots, led by,
not Bessie, no, this maid was a stranger. Where could Bessie be? And
oh, _where_ was my other little trot? For, even at some yards' distance,
I saw something sadly different in the appearance of the one little
figure, slowly coming along in our direction. It was dressed--hat, coat,
gloves, socks and all--it was dressed in deep mourning.

'I seized my hat and rushed out to meet them. Mamma thought I was going
out of my mind I believe. When I found myself in the open air, I tried
to control myself and look like the rest of the people walking quietly
along, though my heart was beating violently, and I felt as if I could
not speak without crying. But when I got up to the one little trot and
its attendant, the sight of her strange face composed me. She was so
different from Bessie--old and stiff and prim looking. I stooped to kiss
the child, Dot or Doll, I knew not which. "How are you, darling?" I
said. "And where is----" I stopped short.

'The trot looked up in my face.

'"Oh lady," it said, "Dot is all alone. Doll is 'done to 'Ebben," and
the great tears gathered in Dot's mournful eyes and rolled down Dot's
rosy cheeks.

'"Hush, hush, my dear. You mustn't cry. You'll make yourself ill if you
cry any more," said the hard looking nurse.

'A moment before, I had intended turning to her and asking for some
particulars of the baby's sad words, but now I felt I _could_ not. She
was so stiff and unsympathising. I could not bear her to see me, a
stranger, crying about what I had heard. Besides, what good would it do?
Why should I hear any more? I shrank from doing so. The bare fact was
enough. I just bent down an