“You are the girl Miss White promised to send from the asylum, are you not?”

“Yes, madam.”

“Do you think you can take good care of my baby?”

“Oh, I will try.”

“You don’t look strong and healthy—­have you been sick?”

“No; I am very well, thank you.”

“I may want you to sew some, occasionally, when the baby is asleep.  Can you hem and stitch neatly?”

“I believe I sew very well, madam—­our matron says so.”

“What is your name?  Miss White told me, but I have forgotten it.”

“Beulah Benton.”

“Well, Beulah, I think you will suit me very well, if you are only careful and attend to my directions.  I am just going out shopping, but you can come upstairs and take charge of Johnny.  Where are your clothes?”

“Our matron will send them to-day.”

Beulah followed Mrs. Martin up the steps, somewhat reassured by her kind reception.  The room was in utter confusion, the toilet-table covered with powder, hairpins, bows of different colored ribbon, and various bits of jewelry; the hearth unswept, the workstand groaning beneath the superincumbent mass of sewing, finished and unfinished garments, working materials, and, to crown the whole, the lady’s winter hat.  A girl, apparently about thirteen years of age, was seated by the fire, busily embroidering a lamp-mat; another, some six years younger, was dressing a doll; while an infant, five or six months old, crawled about the carpet, eagerly picking up pins, needles, and every other objectionable article his little purple fingers could grasp.

“Take him, Beulah,” said the mother.

She stooped to comply, and was surprised that the little fellow testified no fear of her.  She raised him in her arms, and kissed his rosy cheeks, as he looked wonderingly at her.

“Ma, is that Johnny’s new nurse?  What is her name?” said the youngest girl, laying down her doll and carefully surveying the stranger.

“Yes, Annie; and her name is Beulah,” replied the mother, adjusting her bonnet.

“Beulah—­it’s about as pretty as her face.  Yes, just about,” continued Annie, in an audible whisper to her sister.  The latter gave Beulah a condescending stare, curled her lips disdainfully, and, with a polite “Mind your own business, Annie,” returned to her embroidery.

“Keep the baby by the fire; and if he frets you must feed him.  Laura, show her where to find his cup of arrowroot, and you and Annie stay here till I come home.”

“No, indeed, ma, I can’t; for I must go down and practice my music lesson,” answered the eldest daughter decisively.

“Well, then, Annie, stay in my room.”

“I am going to make some sugar-candy, ma.  She”—­pointing to Beulah—­ “can take care of Johnny.  I thought that was what you hired her for.”

“You will make no sugar-candy till I come home, Miss Annie; do you hear that?  Now, mind what I said to you.”