"Yes, but other people didn’t call her mammy--it was only you did that," said Flinders desperately. "What did other people call her? Can’t you remember that?" It happened that Susy not only remembered, but immediately gave utterance to her recollections in such a way as fairly made the soldier jump. "They called my mammy ’my lady,’" she said simply. Private Flinders gave the child a great hug, and put her down off his knee. "Gord bless you, little ’un," he ejaculated. "And see if I don’t ferret that mammy of yours out before I’m many days older--see if I don’t." He met the matron as he went towards the entrance. "Missis," he said, stopping, "I’ve got a clue to that little ’un’s belongings. I’m off to the police station now about it. I’d advise you to treat her as tender as you can. It’ll come home to you, mark my words." "Dear me," snapped the matron; "is she going to turn out a princess in disguise, then?" "It’ll perhaps turn out a pity you was in such a hurry to crop her hair," said Private Flinders, with dignity. In the face of that sudden recollection of the child’s, he felt that he could afford to be, to a certain extent, stand-offish to the cold-eyed, unloving woman before him. "Oh, rules are rules," said the matron, with an air of fine disdain; "and, in an institution like ours, all must be served alike. It would be a pretty thing if we had to spend half of every day curling the children’s hair. Good-day to you." He felt that he had got the worst of it, and that it was more than possible that little Susy would pay the penalty of his indiscretion. Fool that he had been not to hold his tongue until he had something more tangible to say. Well, it was done now, and could not be undone, and it behoved him to lose no time, but to find out the truth as soon as possible. The inspector whom he found in charge of the police-station listened to his tale with a strictly professional demeanour. "Yes, I remember the little girl coming in and being taken to the workhouse. I remember the case right enough. You’d better leave it to us, and we will find out whether such a child is missing anywhere in the country." I need hardly say that in Private Flinders’ mind there lurked that deep-rooted distrust of a policeman that lives somewhere or other in the heart of every soldier. It came uppermost in his mind at that moment. "You’ll do your best?" he said, a little wistfully. "You’ll not let time go by, and--and----?" "We shall be in communication with every police-station in the kingdom in a few hours," returned the inspector, who knew pretty well what was passing in the soldier’s mind. "But, all the same, you mustn’t be over-much disappointed if there proves to be nothing in it. You see, if such a child was being inquired for, we should have heard of it before this. However, we’ll do our best; you may be very sure of that."