MARY LARKIN was the daughter of a tailor. He had two other children, one son of seven years, and a daughter scarcely as many months. Hers was a sad case. One day she and her brother Thomas were playing in the kitchen where their mother was washing; the baby was lying in his cradle, amusing himself with his toes, when suddenly there was a dreadful shriek¹ of distress², and Mrs. Larkin turned to see Mary in a large kettle of boiling water. Thomas had become angry with his little sister and pushed her there.

 

On reaching the child, the mother found one foot and ankle completely submerged, so that when the stocking was removed, not only the skin, but some of the flesh came with it.

 

As soon as it was possible, a physician was summoned, who prescribed for a few days, and then advised her to be sent to the hospital, where she could have constant care. He did not tell the almost distracted mother that her child would, doubtless, have to suffer the loss of a limb, though he anticipated it from the first, and was sure it would be better, both for the mother and child, that she should be removed.

 

As soon as these particulars about the young stranger were known, they excited universal sympathy. Mary appeared to be a lively, affectionate child. Just now there were marks of suffering on her face; her eyes had a dark circle around them, and her brow was often contracted; but there was an occasional sparkle in her bright orbs³, a slight elevation⁴ of the eyebrows⁵, which made her almost beautiful.

 

She was Irish, and had a rich brogue quite peculiar⁷ even among the children brought up in America. It was not many days before she had given her own names to the different persons about her. One of the nurses whose name was Cowles, she designated as "Miss Knowles," and never varied⁸ from this title. The kind lady who every few days brought her flowers, fruit and playthings, she called "the lady in black." The woman with the dreadful

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