pointing out the beauties of the watch, the hands, etc.

"'And--and--bigger like that'--stretching his arms wide--'bigger
like that than your watch.'

"'Your watch,' said Eileen, 'is little and tiny, like Mummy's
watch. But Mummy's watch pins on here,' dabbing at Hildeguard's
blouse. Then suddenly she raised swimming eyes to Hildeguard's: 'I
do want Mummy,' she said.

"'Darling,' cried Hildeguard, catching Baby with her right arm, so
as to free the other to draw Eileen to her--'Darling, so we all
do.'"


It is a simple account of the little ways of shy children. Many a mother
could have written it equally well.

But the interest of Elsie Inglis's descriptions of children lies in the
fact that they come from the pen of a woman of action, a woman of iron
nerve, and they give us the other side of her character.

And then--she was a woman whom no child called mother! But thank God the
instinct is not one that can be dammed up or lost, and in these writings
we get a glimpse of that motherhood which was hers, and which her life
showed to be deep enough and wide enough to sweep under its wing the
human souls, men, women, and children, who, passing near it, and being
in need, cried out for help, and never cried in vain. To quote a
fellow-woman: