The daily letters to her father, written from Glasgow and London and Dublin, are full of stories about the children of her patients. Who but a genuine child-lover could have found time to write to a little niece, under twelve, letters from Serbia and Russia--one in August, 1915, during "The Long, Peaceful Summer," and the other in an ambulance train near Odessa? Her book, _The Story of a Modern Woman_, contains many descriptions which reveal a mind to whom the ways of children are of deep interest. We draw once more from the pages of the novel, as in no other way can we show so well the mother-heart that was hers. One of Hildeguard's friends, dying in India, leaves three small children, whom she commends to her pity. Hildeguard's heart responds at once, and the orphans find their home with her. Her first meeting with the frightened children and their black nurse is described in detail: "'Just let's wait a minute or two,' said Hildeguard. 'Let them get used to me. Well, Baby,' she said, turning to the ayah, and holding out her arms. "With a great leap and a gurgle Baby precipitated himself towards her, his strong little hands clutching uncertainly at the brooch at her throat. Then the buttons distracted him, and then, after a serious look at her face, his eyes suddenly caught sight of the hat above it, and the irresistible gleam of some ornament on it. With wildly working hands he pulled himself to his feet, and, with one fat little hand on her face, grabbed at the shining jet. "Hildeguard, laughing, and submitting herself half resistingly to the onslaught, felt her hat dragged sideways by the uncertain little hand. "She held the little one close to her, still laughing, kissing the firm little arms and hands, and talking baby nonsense as if it had been her mother-tongue for years. "The brooch again caught Baby's eye, and he made another determined raid on it. He seized it and pricked his finger. Down went the corners of his mouth. "'There now,' said Hildeguard, 'I knew you'd do that, you duckie boy,' kissing the pricked hand over and over again. 'And good little sonnie is not to cry. A watch is much safer than a brooch: now let's see if we can get at it,' feeling in her belt. "The watch was grabbed at and went straight to his mouth. "'Does your watch blow open?' asked Rex. "'Come and see,' said Hildeguard. "Rex came without a moment's hesitation. Eileen was forgotten in the interest of a new investigation. The watch did blow open. How exceedingly exciting! He leaned both arms on Hildeguard's knee while he defended the watch from Baby's greedy attacks. Then he suddenly remembered something of more importance. "'I've got a watch too.' He wriggled wildly with excitement, and pulled out a Waterbury. "'Well, you are a lucky boy!' said Hildeguard.