Scarcely able to act or decide rationally, for her head ached intensely, and she was burning with fever, Mrs. Warburton wandered about the streets with her three children, one a boy about twelve years old, the other a little girl about nine, and the third, a little one tottering by her side, scarce two years old.  All at once, as she turned her steps into—­street, her eye caught sight of the tall poplars that indicated the home of the homeless.  “I have no home but this,” she murmured to herself, and turned her steps instinctively towards the dark mass of buildings that stood near the present intersection of—­and—­streets.

“Where is your permit?” said the keeper, as she falteringly asked for admission.

“I have none,” was the faint reply.

“We cannot take you, unless you bring a permit from one of the commissioners.”

“I don’t know any commissioner.”

“Where are you from?”

“I have just come to town from the west, and am too sick to do anything.  I feel faint, and unable to go farther.  Can you not admit me, and let application be made to the commissioners for me?”

The appearance of Mrs. Warburton too plainly indicated her sick condition, and the keeper thought it best to admit her for the present.  A meeting of the commissioners was held on the same afternoon, and a formal admission given.

The first indication that Mrs. W. had, that she was no longer at liberty to choose or think for herself, was the entire separation of her children from her.  True, she was soon too ill to attend to them, but that would have made no difference.  After a dangerous illness of many weeks, during most of which time she was insensible to everything around her, she was again able to droop about a little.  Her first questions, after the healthy reaction of body and mind, were about her children; her first request, to see them.  But this was denied.  “They are doing well enough,” was all the answer she could get.

“But cannot I see Emma, my little one?  Do let me see her!”

“It is contrary to the rules of the institution.  You cannot see her now.”

“When can I see her?”

“I don’t know,”—­and the nurse of the sick woman left her and went to attend somewhere else, utterly insensible to the keen agony of the mother’s heart.  Was she not a pauper?  What right had she to human feelings?  But a mother’s love is not to be chained down to rules, or circumscribed by the narrow policy of chartered expediency.  As Mrs. Warburton slowly gained strength, a quicker perception of her situation grew upon her, and she soon determined to know all about her children.  In vain had she asked to see them; but each denial only increased the desire, and confirmed her resolutions to see them and know all about them.

One day, when she could walk about a little, a day on which she knew the board of commissioners were in session, she watched her opportunity, and when the nurse was attending in another part of the room, stole quietly out, and soon made her way to the commissioners’ room.