loved the little one. She was only three weeks old when a letter was
forwarded to me at the address I had given in London, saying that my
grandmother was ill and wished me to go home at once. What was I to do
with the baby? I can remember how the great drops of anguish stood on
my face, how my hands trembled, how my very heart went cold with dread.

"The newspapers which I took daily, to read the advertisements for
governesses, lay upon the table, and my eyes were caught by an
advertisement from some woman living at Brighton, who undertook the
bringing up of children. I resolved to go down that very day. I said
nothing to my landlady of my intention. I merely told her that I was
going to place the little one in very good hands, and that I would
return for my luggage.

"I meant--so truly as Heaven hears me speak--I meant to do right by the
little child. I meant to work hard to keep her in a nice home. Oh, I
meant well!

"I was ashamed to go out in the streets with a little baby in my arms.

"'What shall I do if it cries?' I asked the kindly landlady. 'You can
prevent it from crying,' she said; 'give it some cordial.' 'What
cordial?' I asked, and she told me. 'Will it hurt the little one?' I
asked again, and she laughed.

"'No,' she replied, 'certainly not. Half the mothers in London give it
to their children. It sends them into a sound sleep, and they wake up
none the worse for it. If you give the baby just a little it will sleep
all the way to Brighton, and you will have no trouble.' I must say this
much for myself, that I knew nothing whatever of children, that is, of