"Ah! but it's a right wicked place," she exclaimed in horror, as she passed by some of the foul-smelling closes, or courts, as we call them, where dishevelled hag-like old women sat on door-steps, and filthy, squalid children played in the gutter, where ill-favoured young people of both sexes hung idly about the entrances, chaffing or quarrelling with each other. "Ye police people must be a poor set out, an' ye can no do away with such dens as these!" Mrs. MacDougall cried in righteous indignation. "And the country folk are all for sending their girls into the towns to get high wages and such gear. I would not have one of mine come to such a Babylon as this!"
But Mrs. MacDougall had not time for more observations, for they were soon at the hospital where sick children were received. They were at once admitted. A kind-looking woman came forward, and asked if it was necessary to see the child.
"Are ye no aware, ma'am, that he is my ain bairn?" Mrs. MacDougall began; but her companion interrupted her.
"Our business is to identify the little laddie," he said, with a tone of authority.
"Then I warn you to be careful," the woman replied. "He is just in a critical condition, and must not be spoken to."
"Ye mean well to say his life is in danger?" Mrs. MacDougall asked quickly.
"I cannot deny it," the matron replied; "but you must not despair. Children make wonderful recoveries," she added, kindly.
She led them to the door of the ward, where a nurse came forward to conduct them to the proper bed.
"It is my ain little bairnie," Mrs. MacDougall whispered; "but sairly altered, sairly changed."
"He couldn't have been worse than he's been," the nurse said, drawing them a little way from the bed. "The delirium was just dreadful to see! But that's past, and we only want him to rally. He's about exhausted now, and must be kept quiet. I would not like him to open his eyes and find you by his side. By my will you would not have been admitted."