Next day inquiry proved that Bet’s “bairn” was literally without friends. Her mother had been in receipt of parochial aid on account of the child and her own poverty, and the parochial authorities could prove beyond question that she had been friendless and alone. Under these circumstances the glad wish welled up naturally to Bet’s lips—she would take it; she would be a mother to the orphan, and seek help from no parochial board. Alas! Bet forgot in the warmth of her newborn love that all her past life was against her. What kind of guardian for a tender and innocent child was a woman who had spent most of her life in open defiance of the law, when not actually in prison? The truth only dawned upon Bet when those who had the power evaded her request by saying that they would consider the matter, make inquiries, and let her know. Meantime the child was allowed to remain with Bet, and, as she slowly sauntered home, the thought rose in her mind— “They’ll take her from me; they’ll never allow me to keep her. I’m too bad; too well known. They’ll ask the police about me, and take her away to-morrow. And they’re right. I’m not fit to bring her up—not unless I make a change.” That was the thought which pulled Bet up, and made her pace the streets for hour after hour before returning to her charge. Change!—was it possible for her to change sufficiently to bring up a child to a good and useful life? Bet was afraid that it was not. But then her very boldness and seeming callousness covered a strong will and a passionate nature, which, once roused to love, loved with head-strong impetuosity. The more imminent the separation from the child seemed, the more Bet longed to keep her, and the result of her long thinking on the plainstones of Glasgow was that she went home to nestle down beside Mary, saying to herself, “I’ll try! I’ll try, for her sake!” Her case, however, was desperate, so Bet was awake very early in the morning, and had Mary up and dressed and out into the cool morning air before the bells and steam whistles had begun to call the factory folks and ironworkers from their homes. Bet’s intention was to make her way to Edinburgh, but as she was fearful of her destination being suspected, and herself pursued, she took a very different route when leaving the city. She had not a penny in her pocket, and, as a matter of fact, had to beg her way, by a long and circuitous route, to the capital. We were duly informed of her disappearance, and, though there was no special charge against her, we should doubtless very soon have had her in our hands had Bet resumed her own line of business. But this did not happen. Bet, while begging at a farm outside the city, had been told to go and work, and replied that she was willing to do so there and then. This resulted in her being employed on the place for nearly a month. At the end of that time she had a little money to draw, and entered the city to have a struggle for honesty and a new life.