Private Flinders, however, was not to be laughed out of his interest in the little child Susy; and regularly every week he walked down to the workhouse, and asked to see her taking always a few sweeties, bought out of his scanty pay, the cost of which meant his going without some small luxury for himself. And Susy, who was miserably unhappy in that abode of sorrow which we provide in this country for the destitute, grew to look eagerly for his visits, and sobbed out all her little troubles and trials to his sympathetic ears. "Susy don’t like her," she confided to him one day when the matron had left them alone together. "She slaps me. Susy don’t love her." "But Susy will learn to be a good girl, and not get slapped," the soldier said, with something suspiciously like a lump in his throat. "See, I’ve brought you some lollipops--you’ll like them, won’t you?" He happened to run up against the matron as he walked away toward the door. "She’s a tender little thing, missis," he remarked, with a vague kind of notion that even workhouse matrons have hearts sometimes. And so some of them have, though not many. This particular one was among the many. [Illustration: "She’s a tender little thing, missis," he remarked.] "A very self-willed child," she remarked sharply, "considering that she’s so young. We have a great deal of trouble with her. She does not seem to know the meaning of the word obedience." "She is but a baby," ventured the soldier apologetically. "Baby, or no baby, she’ll have to learn it here," snapped the matron viciously; and then Flinders went on his way, feeling sadder than ever, and yet more and more regretful that he was not married, or had at least a mother in a position to adopt a little child. The next time he went they had cut the child’s lovely long, curling locks, indeed, she had been shorn like a sheep in spring-time. Flinders’ soft heart gave a great throb, and he cuddled the mite to his broad breast, as if by so doing he could undo the indignity that had been put upon her. "Susy," he said, when he had handed over his sweets and she was busily munching them up, "I want you to try and remember something." Susy looked at him doubtfully, but nodded her cropped head with an air of wise acquiescence. Flinders went on talking quietly. "You remember before you came here--you had a home and a mammy, don’t you?" "Yes," said Susy promptly. "What sort of a house was it?" "Where my mammy was?" she asked. "Yes." "Big," replied Susy briefly, selecting another sweetie with care. "And what was it called?" "The house," said the child, in a matter-of-fact tone. Flinders gave a sigh. "Yes, I dare say it was. Don’t you remember, though, what your mammy was called?" "Why mammy, of course," said Susy, as if the question was too utterly foolish for serious consideration.