who gave you that bruise."

"A didna gie't to mysel', mem." was the answer from the figure in the
soapsuds. There was a half sob in the voice as of terror, and her manner
had all the appearance of ingenuousness.

The matron and Miss Mackenzie looked at each other significantly, and
agreed tacitly that there was no use in pushing the question.

"Od!" said Kate, who had paused in the act of taking a warm towel from
the fireplace to listen, "a'body kens ye didna gie it till yoursel',
lassie."

"Where are her clothes?" said the matron. "Oh, here. Yon frock's good
enough if it was washed; but, losh me! just look at these for clothes!"
She was exhibiting some indescribable rags as she spoke.

"Kate," said Miss Mackenzie, "dress her in the lassie Grant's clothes:
they are the most likely to fit her. Don't lose time: I want to see her
again before I go."

Kate fished up her charge, all smoking, from the soapsuds and rubbed her
down before the fire. Then the tangled wet hair was parted evenly and
smoothed into dark locks on either side of her face. Raiment clean, but
the coarsest of the coarse, was found for her. A brown wincey dress
surmounted all. Shoes and stockings came last of all, probably in the
order of importance assigned to them by Kate.

From the arm-chair of the matron's sitting-room Miss Mackenzie surveyed
her charge with satisfaction. Baubie looked subdued, contented, perhaps
grateful, and was decidedly uncomfortable. Every vestige of the
picturesque was gone, obliterated clean by soap and water, and Kate's
hair-comb, a broken-toothed weapon that had come off second best in its
periodic conflicts with her own barley-mow, had disposed for ever of the
wild, curly tangle of hair. Her eyes had red rims to them, caused by
superfluous soap and water, and in its present barked condition, when
all the dirt was gone, Baubie's face had rather an interesting, wistful
expression. She seemed not to stand very steadily in her boots, which
were much too big for her.

Miss Mackenzie surveyed her with great satisfaction. The brown wincey
and the coarse apron seemed to her the neophyte's robe, betokening
Baubie's conversion from arab nomadism to respectability and from a
vagabond trade to decorous industry.

"Now, Baubie, you can knit: I mean to give you needles and worsted to
knit yourself stockings. Won't that be nice? I am sure you never knitted
stockings for yourself before."

"Yes, mem," replied Baubie, shuffling he