As the doctor caught up the little child, the mother shouted, “No, no!  Not go!”

“I say yes,” said the doctor; “I’ll get a policeman and put you all in prison.  Tell her.”

The threat made no impression upon the mother.  On the contrary, as the doctor moved toward the door she seized a large carving-knife and threw herself before him.  For a moment or two they stood facing each other, the doctor uncertain what his next move should be, but determined that his plan should not fail this time.  It was Mrs. French who interposed.  With a smile she laid her hand upon the mother’s arm.

“Tell her,” she said to the little girl, “that I will go with the children, and I promise that no hurt shall come to them.  And I will bring them back again safe.  Your mother can come and see them to-morrow—­to-day.  The hospital is a lovely place.  They will have nice toys, dolls, and nice things to eat, and we’ll make them better.”

Rapidly, almost breathlessly, and with an eager smile on her sweet face, Mrs. French went on to describe the advantages and attractions of the hospital, pausing only to allow the little girl to translate.

At length the mother relented, her face softened.  She stepped from the door, laying down her knife upon the table, moved not by the glowing picture of Mrs. French’s words, but by the touch upon her arm and the face that smiled into hers.  Once more the mother spoke.

“Will you go too?” interpreted the little girl.

“Yes, surely.  I go too,” she replied.

This brought the mother’s final surrender.  She seized Mrs. French’s hand, and bursting into loud weeping, kissed it again and again.  Mrs. French put her arms around the weeping woman, and unshrinking, kissed the tear-stained, dirty face.  Dr. Wright looked on in admiring silence.

“You are a dead sport,” he said.  “I can’t play up to that; but you excite my ambition.  Get a shawl around the other kiddie and come along, or I’ll find myself kissing the bunch.”

Once more he started toward the door, but the mother was before him, talking and gesticulating.

“What’s the row now?” said the doctor, turning to the little interpreter.

“She says she must dress them, make them clean.”

“It’s a big order,” said the doctor, “but I submit.”

With great energy Mrs. Blazowski proceeded to prepare her children for their momentous venture into the world.  The washing process was simple enough.  From the dish-pan which stood upon the hearth half full of dirty water and some of the breakfast dishes, she took a greasy dish-cloth, wrung it out carefully, and with it proceeded to wash, not untenderly, the festering heads, faces and fingers of her children, resorting from time to time to the dish-pan for a fresh supply of water.  This done, she carefully dried the parts thus diligently washed with the handkerchief which she usually wore about her head.  Then pinning shawls about their heads, she had her children ready for their departure, and gave them into Mrs. French’s charge, sobbing aloud as if she might never see them more.