"I got on a car and pretty soon was asking the gate-keeper of the city and county hospital how I should apply to get in. 'Patient?' he asked. 'Yes, sir,' said I. So he directed me to the office. A lot of people were there, waiting their turn. After a while a doctor interviewed me in a little office. He asked me a good many questions. No, I didn't lie to him, but I told him as little as I could. He said, 'We can't take you in yet. Come on such a date,' and put my name on a book, then wrote on a card something about admitting the bearer, Mary H----, maternity ward, with his name and the day I was due there. I told him I'd no place to go; he said I was able to work for a while. So I went out to try and find some work. Before evening I got a job washing dishes and preparing vegetables in a small restaurant, for the sake of my board and bed, and I stayed there until it was time to go back to the hospital. "I forgot all my troubles for a while when Jack came.... Mother Roberts, how can I think God is good? He's going to take my baby from me; he's going to let him die. I can't stand it. I'll kill myself--yes, I will...." Two nights later little Jack still breathed, though scarcely perceptibly, and again I shared poor Mary's vigil. About midnight I asked if she felt able to finish her story. Presently she continued: "When my little Jack was three weeks old, the nurse of our ward took down the card from the head of my bed, and told me I could go now. I was dismissed, and they wanted my corner for another patient. "I stood outside the big gate that afternoon wondering where I could go and holding my pretty little Jack against my breast. I'd a nice warm shawl, so he was good and comfortable. A thought like this struck me. 'Grandfather is so fond of babies. I'll go there. _Perhaps when he sees the dear, innocent little baby, he'll forgive me and take me back.'_ It seemed as though I would never reach their house [in the neighborhood of Sixth and Clara Streets, reader], and I had to rest on some one's doorsteps very often, I was that weak. It was pretty near dusk when I knocked on the door, and the fog was coming in. Grandmother opened it. She threw up her hands when she saw me; didn't ask me in, but hollered for Grandfather to come, and _come quick_, which he did. Oh! Mother Roberts, to my dying day I'll remember how he cursed me when he saw me and my baby's darling face, and then he closed the door with an awful bang. Well, I was dazed like for a little bit, then Baby cried. I sat on somebody's doorstep and nursed him, then kept on walking and resting; going, I hardly knew where.