in it from the tea
kettle. When Beulah closed the door on her she stepped gingerly into
the tub: the water was twice too hot, but she didn't know how to turn
the faucet, or whether she was expected to turn it. Mrs. O'Farrel had
told her that people had to pay for water in New York. Perhaps Aunt
Beulah had drawn all the water she could have. She used the soap
sparingly. Soap was expensive, she knew. She wished there was some way
of discovering just how much of things she was expected to use. The
number of towels distressed her, but she finally took the littlest and
dried herself. The heat of the water had nearly parboiled her.

After that, she tried to do blindly what she was told. There was a
girl in a black dress and white apron that passed her everything she
had to eat. Her Aunt Beulah told her to help herself to sugar and to
cream for her oatmeal, from off this girl's tray. Her hand trembled a
good deal, but she was fortunate enough not to spill any. After
breakfast she was sent to wash her hands in the bathroom; she turned
the faucet, and used a very little water. Then, when she was called,
she went into the sitting-room and sat down, and folded her hands in
her lap.

Beulah looked at her with some perplexity. The child was docile and
willing, but she seemed unexpectedly stupid for a girl ten years old.

"Have you ever been examined for adenoids, Eleanor?" she asked
suddenly.

"No, ma'am."

"Say, 'no, Aunt Beulah.' Don't say, 'no, ma'am' and 'yes, ma'am.'
People don't say 'no, ma'am' and 'yes, ma'am' any more, you know. They
say 'no' and 'yes,' and then mention the name of the person to whom
they are speaking."

"Yes, ma'am," Eleanor couldn't stop herself saying it. She wanted to
correct herself. "No, Aunt Beulah, no, Aunt Beulah," but the words
stuck in her throat.

"Well, try to remember," Beulah said. She was thinking of the case in
a book of psychology that she had been reading that morning, of a girl
who was "pale and sleepy looking, expressionless of face, careless of
her personal appearance," who after an operation for adenoids, had
become "as animated and bright as before she had been lethargic and
dull." She was pleased to see that Eleanor's fine hair had been
scrupulously combed, and neatly braided this morning, not being able
to realize--as how should she?--that the condition of Eleanor's fine
spun locks on her arrival the night before, had been attributable to
the fact that the O'Farrel baby ha