In front of each child was a plate set in a recess in the table—­this to guard against overturning in the excitement of the moment—­and in each plate was a generous portion of chicken broth poured over broken bread.

It was evidently good.  Approval shone on each pink face.  A brisk play of spoons and the smacking of lips seemed to be the order of the day.

“Each play room has its own wash room—­” said Mary.

She opened another door belonging to this particular suite and disclosed a bathroom with special fixtures for babies.  Large bowls, with hot and cold water, were set in porcelain tables.

“What’s the use of having so many bath-bowls in this table,” asked Professor Marsh, “when you only have two nurses to do the bathing?”

“Every woman with a baby has half an hour off in the morning, and another half hour in the afternoon,” he was told.  “In the morning, she bathes her baby.  In the afternoon she loves it.”

In the next play-room which they visited, the babies were of the bottle age, and were proving this to the satisfaction of every one concerned.

In the next, refreshments were over; and some of the youngsters slept while others were starting large engineering projects upon the sand pile.

“I never saw such nurseries,” said the most distinguished visitor.  He looked at the artistic miniature furniture, the decorations, the low padded seat which ran around the walls—­at once a seat and a cupboard for toys.  He looked at the sunlight, the screened verandah, the awning, the flowers, the birds hopping over the lawn, the river gleaming through the trees.

“Miss Spencer,” he said, “I congratulate you.  If they could understand me, I would congratulate these happy youngsters, too.”

“But don’t you think it’s altogether wrong,” said Professor Marsh, “to deprive a child of the advantages of home life?”

“I read and hear that so often,” said Mary, “that I have adopted my own method of replying to it.”

She led her visitors into a small room with a low ceiling.  It was furnished with a cookstove, a table, a small side-board, an old conch and a few chairs.  The floor was splintery and only partly covered by frayed rugs and worn oil cloth.  The paper on the walls was a dark mottled green.  The ceiling was discoloured by smoke.

“This is the kitchen of an average wage-earner,” said Mary.  “Some are better.  Some are worse.  I bought the furniture out of a room, just as it stood, and had the whole place copied in detail.”

Three of the visitors looked at each other.

“Imagine a tired woman,” continued Mary, “standing over that stove—­perhaps expecting another baby before long.  She has been washing all morning and now she is cooking.  The room is damp with steam, the ceiling dotted with flies.  Then imagine a child crawling around the floor, its mother too busy to attend to it, and you’ll get an idea of where some of these children in the nursery would be—­if they weren’t here.  Mind,” she earnestly continued, “I’m not saying that home life for poor children doesn’t have its advantages, but we mustn’t forget that it has its disadvantages, too.”