hat was hoped for or wanted, and,
perfectly contented, Miss Mackenzie turned her attention to the minor
details of wardrobe, etc.: "That frock is good enough if it were washed.
She must get shoes and stockings; and then underwear, too, of some sort
will be wanted."

"That will it," responded the matron; "but I had better send her at
once to get a bath."

A big girl was summoned from a back room and desired to get ready a tub.
It was the ceremony customary at the reception of a neophyte--customary,
and in general very necessary too.

Baubie's countenance fell lower still on hearing this, and she blinked
both eyes deprecatingly. Nevertheless, when the big girl--whom they
called Kate--returned, bringing with her a warm whiff of steam and soap,
she trotted after her obediently and silently.

After a while the door opened, and Kate's yellow head appeared. "Speak
with ye, mem?" she said. "I hae her washen noo, but what for claes?"

"Eh yes.--Miss Mackenzie, we can't put her back into those dirty
clothes."

"Oh no.--I'll come and look at her clothes, Kate." As she spoke Miss
Mackenzie rose and followed the matron and Kate into a sort of kitchen
or laundry.

In the middle of the floor was a tub containing Miss Wishart mid-deep in
soapsuds. Her thick hair was all soaking, and clung fast to her head:
dripping locks hung clown over her eyes, which looked out through the
tangle patient and suffering. She glanced up quickly as Miss Mackenzie
came in, and then resigned herself passively into Kate's hands, who with
a piece of flannel had resumed the scrubbing process.

Miss Mackenzie was thinking to herself that it was possibly Baubie
Wishart's first experience of the kind, when she observed the child
wince as if she were hurt.

"It's yon' as hurts her," said Kate, calling the matron's attention to
something on the child's shoulders. They both stooped and saw a long
blue-and-red mark--a bruise all across her back. Nor was this the only
evidence of ill-treatment: other bruises, and even scars, were to be
seen on the lean little body.

"Puir thing!" said the matron in a low tone, sympathizingly.

"Baubie, who gave you that bruise?" asked Miss Mackenzie.

No answer from Baubie, who seemed to be absorbed in watching the drops
running off the end of her little red nose, which played the part of a
gargoyle to the rest of her face.

Miss Mackenzie repeated the question, sternly almost: "Bauble Wishart, I
insist upon knowing