against the walls, beneath rows of red and blue and yellow
religious pictures.

Just as I was wondering why it seemed impossible to be holy and cheerful
at the same time, there came a pad-padding down the corridor. The next
moment the matron stood in the doorway. She was a mountainous, red-faced
woman, with warts on her nose.

"Good-afternoon," I said, sweetly. ("Ugh! What a brute!") I thought.
Then I began to explain my errand once more. Criticism of the Home? No
indeed, I assured her. At last, convinced of my disinterestedness she
reluctantly guided me about the big, gloomy building. There were endless
flights of shiny stairs, and endless stuffy, airless rooms, until we
came to a door which she flung open, disclosing the nursery. It seemed
to me that there were a hundred babies--babies at every stage of
development, of all sizes, and ages and types. They glanced up at the
opening of the door, and then a dreadful thing happened.

Every child that was able to walk or creep scuttled into the farthest
corners and remained quite, quite still with a wide-eyed expression of
fear and apprehension on every face.

For a moment my heart stood still. I turned to look at the woman by my
side. Her thin lips were compressed into a straight, hard line. She
said a word to a nurse standing near, and began to walk about, eying the
children sharply. She put out a hand to pat the head of one red-haired
mite in a soiled pinafore; but before her hand could descend I saw the
child dodge and the tiny hand flew up to the head, as though in defense.

"They are afraid of her!" my sick heart told me. "Those babies are
afraid of her! What does she do to them? I can't stand this. I'm going."

I mumbled a hurried "Thank you," to the fat matron as I turned to leave
the big, bare room. At the head of the stairs there was a great, black
door. I stopped before it--God knows why!--and pointed toward it.

"What is in that room?" I asked. Since then I have wondered many times
at the unseen power that prompted me to put the question.

The stout matron bustled on, rattling her keys as she walked.

"That--oh, that's where we keep the incorrigibles."

"May I see them?" I asked, again prompted by that inner voice.

"There is only one." She grudgingly unlocked the door, using one of the
great keys that swung from her waist. The heavy, black door swung open.
I stepped into the bare room, lighted dimly by one small window. In the
farthest corner crouch