“As you are a girl, it is not proper that you should have a boy’s name. What is your real name?”
“I think it’s Jenny. Granny used to call me so long ago, but I like Tom best.”
“Then I shall call you Jenny. Now, Jenny, the first thing to do, is to wash yourself clean. Follow me.”
Mrs. Merton went up the front stairs, and Tom followed, using her eyes to good advantage as she advanced.
The landlady led the way into a bath-room. She set the water to running, and bade Tom undress.
“Am I to get into the tub?” asked Tom.
“Yes, certainly. While you are undressing, I will try and find some clothes that will fit you.”
Though she did not at first fancy the idea of bathing, Tom grew to like it, and submitted with a good grace. Mrs. Merton took care that it should be thorough. After it, she dressed Tom in some clothes, still very good, which had been laid aside by her daughter Mary. Then she combed Tom’s tangled locks, and was astonished by the improvement it made in the appearance of the little waif.
I have already said that Tom had elements of beauty, but it took sharp eyes to detect them under the rags and dirt which had so effectually disguised her. She had very brilliant dark eyes, and a clear olive complexion, with cheeks that had a tinge of red instead of the pallor usually to be found in those children who have the misfortune to be reared in a tenement house. In her new clothes she looked positively handsome, as Mrs. Merton thought, though she did not see fit to say so to Tom herself.
When her toilet was concluded she turned Tom to the glass, and said, “There, Jenny, do you know who that is?”