"Oh, Lor'! child, don't ask questions; get into bed, quick." The children donned their pink flannelette nightgowns and then knelt down beside their beds, making the sign of the Cross. There was deep silence, some of the girls began to cry, "Irish Biddy" threw herself on her knees and recited the Rosary with sobs and gasps. "Oh, wash me and I shall be whiter than snow, Whiter than snow, whiter than snow," sang a blear-eyed girl in a raucous, tuneless chant. Musical Meg put her fingers to her ears. "You've got the wrong tune, Rosie; listen, I'll hum it to you," but finding her attempts after musical correctness were unheeded, she started herself the _Qui habitat_ of the _Compline_ office. "Good Lord, girls!" came the shrill voice of Daisy Crabtree; "what's up now? It gives me the hump to hear you sniffing and sobbing over your psalm tunes; let's have something cheerful with a chorus: ''Allo! 'allo! 'allo! it's a different girl again----'" "Oh! do be quiet, Daisy; wait until the poor little things has said their prayers," came the gentle voice of Priscilla. "'Different eyes and a different nose----'" "Stow that, Daisy, or I'll drive those teeth you're so proud of down your throat," said the tall wardswoman. Temperance Hunt (known to her associates as "Tipsy Tempie," all unconscious of the classical dignity of the oxymoron) was a clear starcher and ironer, so skilled in the trade that it was said she could command her own terms in West End laundries, but like many "shirt and collar hands," she was given to bouts of terrible drunkenness, during which she would pawn her furniture and her last rag for gin. Then she would retire to the workhouse for a time, get some clothes out of the charitable, sign another pledge, and come forth again, to the comfort and peace of many households--for the wearers of Tempie's shirts dressed for dinner without a murmur, and "never said a single 'damn.'" Tipsy Tempie was a very powerful woman, and the song died on Daisy's lips as she came towards her, a threatening light in her eyes. "All right, keep your 'air on; if I mayn't sing I'll tell you another tale. When I was in the Haymarket last Boat-race night----" "Now, duckies, you go and get washed; your poor faces are all swelled with crying--can't go to bed like that, you know; we lidies in this ward are most particular." "Please, teacher," said the elder child, "governess downstairs said as we were to go straight to bed; we had a bath yesterday directly we came in." "Do what I tell you. A little drop of water'll stop the smarting of all your tears, and you'll get to sleep quicker." "Now, then, Daisy," she exclaimed, as the two children obediently departed, "if you tell any more of your beastly stories before them two innocent dears, I'll throttle you." "Then you will be hung," said Daisy airily.