temperature of the bath with an expert's finger....  "I never did see anything like this poor child. There's nothing to him. Look at his ribs. You can count 'em. Ugh!"  The eye of Mother had been arrested by a broad red mark across both thighs. 

 "That's been done with a whip," said the Foreman Shunter, grimly. 

 "Just look at those feet ... they are beginning to bleed again. And these pore hands. I'll get some rags and some Friar's Balsam. And his hair! Goodness gracious me! I'll have to go to the chemist's for that, I'm thinking." 

 It was perfectly true that Mother had to pay a visit to the chemist for the boy's hair. Nothing less than the chemist could meet the case. 

 In the meantime, the Foreman Shunter soaped and washed the boy thoroughly, dried him with a coarse towel, rubbed the Friar's Balsam on the mutilated hands and feet, which made them smart horribly, and bound them in clean rags. Mother then returned to perform wonders with the chemist's lotion. Afterwards she fetched a nightgown of Alfie's, put it on the boy, wrapped him up in a couple of blankets, and made him comfortable on the sofa, and the Foreman Shunter drew it a bit nearer the fire. Then the boy was told he could sleep as long as he liked. Presently he began to doze, his mind still running on the police; but certainly this was not a bit like the station. 

 

 

 VII 

 "What'll you do with him, Mother?" 

 It was tea time, the kitchen blind was down, the gas was lit; and mother was toasting a muffin for the Foreman Shunter, who was about to go on duty. 

 "He can't stay here, you know. We've as many as we can manage already." 

 "I know that," snapped Mother. 

 Like most mothers who are worth their salt, she had rather a habit of snapping at the Foreman Shunter. 

 The boy was feeling wonderfully comfortable. In fact, he had never felt so comfortable in his life. And he was just sufficiently awake to 

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