Soon after our arrival we sent a bar of yellow soap to the orphanage with a request that it might be used night and morning. The woman in charge, a snuffy old person who had been born and brought up in the bazaar, came to inquire how it was to be used. The children had been accustomed to ablutions in the native style—with water only, and an occasional Saturday scrub with soap-nut. A big bar of soap was a problem she could not solve without assistance. The poor old soul acted the part of matron to the best of her ability, but she was obliged at last to resign. A more suitable matron, a kind, motherly woman, country-born, but with European instincts, was elected for the post.
The boys and girls lived happily under the same roof, their quarters being divided by the big schoolroom. The classes were mixed, and the teachers mostly young women with the gentle speech and refined manners that are natural to the Eurasians. Life at the institution flowed smoothly as a rule. The inmates learned to love each other as though they belonged to the same family. In course of time the boys went out into the world to follow some trade or take up a clerkship, and the girls married or went into service. The former was preferable in many respects. If the engagement between mistress and maid terminated before another situation could be found, the girl had no home to go to, and ran a risk of being exposed to temptations. When once a member of the school had left, he or she could not be readmitted. The vacant place was filled immediately.
The children were devotedly attached to the orphanage and had no desire to leave. They usually came from wretched homes, utterly unworthy of the name, and compared with which the school was a paradise. There were more applications for admittance than there were vacancies. It was sometimes hard to refuse the parents
