reassured her, and she entered; but her boldness carried her no farther than to stand quietly while the orderlies set down the litter. Without a moment’s delay the nurse knelt beside the boy, and with her scissors began slitting up the sleeves of the tattered coat. 

 “Hey! Wotcher up to?” demanded the waif, suspiciously. 

 “I’m getting you ready for the doctor,” said the nurse, soothingly. “It’s all right.” 

 “Toin’t nuttin’ of de sort,” moaned the boy. “Youse spoilin’ me cloes, an’ if youse wuzn’t a loidy, you’d get youse face poked in, dat’s wot would happen to youse.” 

 Constance came forward and laid her hand on the little fellow’s cheek. “Don’t mind,” she said, “and I’ll give you a new suit of clothes.” 

 “Wen?” came the quick question. 

 “To-morrow.” 

 “Does youse mean dat? Honest? Dere oin’t no string to dis?” 

 “Honest,” echoed the girl, heartily. 

 Reassured, the boy lay quietly while the nurse completed the dismemberment of the ragged coat, the apology for a shirt, and the bit of twine which served in lieu of suspenders. But the moment she began on the trousers, the wail was renewed. 

 “Quit, I say, or I’ll soak de two of youse; see if I don’t. Ah, won’t youse—” The words became inarticulate howls which the prayers and assurances of the two women could not lessen. 

 “Now, then, stop this noise and tell me what is the matter,” ordered a masculine voice; and turning from the boy, Constance found a tall, strong-featured man with tired-looking eyes standing at the other side of the litter. 

 Hopeful that the diversion might mean assistance, the waif’s howls once more became lingual. “Dey’s tryin’ to swipe me money, boss,” he whined. “Hope I may die if deys oin’t.” 

 “And where is your money?” asked the doctor. 

 “Wotcher want to know for?” demanded the urchin, with recurrent suspicion in his face. 

 “It’s in the pocket of his trousers, Dr. Armstrong,” said 

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