of a handkerchief under the faucet long enough to get it dripping
wet, she scrubbed herself with the ice-water, until her cheeks shone
like rosy winter apples.

Then she smoothed the wet, elfish-looking hair out of her black eyes,
and proceeded to scrub such of the smaller children as could not
escape from her relentless grasp. Some submitted dumbly, and others
struggled under her vigorous application of the icy rag, but all she
attacked came out clean and shining.

Her dress was wringing wet in front, and the water was standing in
puddles around her feet, when the man who had them in charge came
through the car again. He whisked her impatiently into a seat, setting
her down hard. She made a saucy face behind his back, and began to
sing at the top of her voice.

One little tot had fallen and bumped its head as the train gave a
sudden lurch. It was crying pitifully, but in a subdued sort of
whimper, as if it felt that crying was of no use when nobody listened
and nobody cared. He picked it up, made a clumsy effort to comfort
it, and, not knowing what else to do, sat down beside it. Then for the
first time he noticed Mrs. Estel.

She had taken a pair of scissors from her travelling-bag, and had cut
several newspapers up into soldiers and dolls and all kinds of animals
for the crowd that clamored around her.

They were such restless little bodies, imprisoned so long on this
tedious journey, that anything with a suggestion of novelty was
welcome.

When she had supplied them with a whole regiment of soldiers and
enough animals to equip a menagerie, she took another paper and began
teaching them to fold it in curious ways to make boxes, and boats, and
baskets.

One by one they crowded up closer to her, watching her as if she were
some wonderful magician. They leaned their dusty heads against her
fresh gray travelling-dress. They touched her dainty gloves with
dirty, admiring fingers. They did not know that this was the first
time that she had ever come in close contact with such lives as
theirs.

They did not know that it was the remembrance of another child,--one
who awaited her home-coming,--a petted little princess born to purple
and fine linen, that made her so tender towards them. Remembering what
hers had, and all these lacked, she felt that she must crowd all the
brightness possible into the short afternoon they were together.

Every one of them, at some time in their poor bare lives, had known
what it was