agonal scar, occasionally seen in those
so afflicted as to require the merciful knife of a skilful surgeon to
aid in shaping the mouth.

The unfortunate victim of physical deformity, increased by a fall
which prevented the possibility of her ever being able to walk,
nature had with unusual malignity stamped her with a feebleness of
intellect that at times bordered almost on imbecility.

Temporarily deserted by her nurse, the poor little creature was
crying bitterly over the fate of her hat. Walking up behind the boy,
who was too much engrossed by his mischievous sport to observe her
approach, Mrs. Orme seized his arms.

"You wicked boy! How can you be so cruel as to torment that afflicted
child?"

Taking his pretty mother-of-pearl-headed cane, she tried to touch the
hat, but it was just beyond her reach, and, resolved to rescue it,
she fastened the cane to the handle of her parasol, using her
handkerchief to bind them together. Thus elongated it sufficed to
draw the hat to the margin, and, raising it, she shook out the water,
and hung the dripping bit of finery upon one of the handles of the
carriage.

"Give me my walking-stick," said the boy, whose pronunciation
proclaimed him thoroughly English.

"No, sir. I intend to punish you for your cruelty. You tyrannized
over that helpless little girl, because you were the strongest. I
think I have more strength than you, and you shall feel how pleasant
such conduct is."

Untying the cane, she raised it in the air, and threw it with all the
force she could command into the middle of the water.

"Now if you want it, wade in with your best boots and Sunday clothes
and get it; and go home and tell your parents, if you have any, that
you are a bad, rude, ugly-behaved boy. When you need your toy, think
of that hat."

The cane had sunk instantly, and with a sullen scowl of rage at her,
and a grimace at the occupant of the carriage, the boy walked sulkily
away.

With her handkerchief, Mrs. Orme wiped off the water that adhered to
the hat, squeezed and shook out the ribbons and laid it upon the
afghan, in reach of the fingers that more nearly resembled claws than
the digits of a human hand.

"Don't cry, dear. It will soon dry now."

The solemn black eyes, still glistening with tears, stared up at her,
and impelled by that peculiar pitying tenderness that hovers in the
hearts of all mothers, Mrs. Orme bent down and gently smoothed the
elfish locks around the sallow for