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crazy captives shivering, and added,
    emphatically, “It’s horribly brutal.” While they stood there I thought
    I would not relish supper that night. They looked so lost and
    hopeless. Some were chattering nonsense to invisible persons, others
    were laughing or crying aimlessly, and one old, gray-haired woman
    was nudging me, and, with winks and sage noddings of the head
    and pitiful uplifting of the eyes and hands, was assuring me that I
    must not mind the poor creatures, as they were all mad. “Stop at the
    heater,” was then ordered, “and get in line, two by two.” “Mary, get
    a companion.” “How many times must I tell you to keep in line?”
    “Stand still,” and, as the orders were issued, a shove and a push
    were administered, and often a slap on the ears. After this third and
    final halt, we were marched into a long, narrow dining-room, where
    a rush was made for the table.
    The table reached the length of the room and was uncovered and
    uninviting. Long benches without backs were put for the patients to
    sit on, and over these they had to crawl in order to face the table.
    Placed closed together all along the table were large dressing-bowls
    filled with a pinkish-looking stuff which the patients called tea. By

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    each bowl was laid a piece of bread, cut thick and buttered. A small
    saucer containing five prunes accompanied the bread. One fat
    woman made a rush, and jerking up several saucers from those
    around her emptied their contents into her own saucer. Then while
    holding to her own bowl she lifted up another and drained its
    contents at one gulp. This she did to a second bowl in shorter time
    than it takes to tell it. Indeed, I was so amused at her successful
    grabbings that when I looked at my own share the woman opposite,
    without so much as by your leave, grabbed my bread and left me
    without any.
    Another patient, seeing this, kindly offered me hers, but I declined
    with thanks and turned to the nurse and asked for more. As she
    flung a thick piece down on the table she made some remark about
    the fact that if I forgot where my home was I had not forgotten how
    to eat. I tried the bread, but the butter was so horrible that one could
    not eat it. A blue-eyed German girl on the opposite side of the table
    told me I could have bread unbuttered if I wished, and that very few
    were able to eat the butter. I turned my attention to the prunes and
    found that very few of them would be sufficient. A patient near
    asked me to give them to her. I did so. My bowl of tea was all that
    was left. I tasted, and one taste was enough. It had no sugar, and it
    tasted as if it had been made in copper. It was as weak as water. This
    was also transferred to a hungrier patient, in spite of the protest of
    Miss Neville.
    “You must force the food down,” she said, “else you will be sick, and
    who know but what, with these surroundings, you may go crazy. To
    have a good brain the stomach must be cared for.”
    “It is impossible for me to eat that stuff,” I replied, and, despite all
    her urging, I ate nothing that night.
    It did not require much time for the patients to consume all that was
    eatable on the table, and then we got our orders to form in line in the
    hall. When this was done the doors before us were unlocked and we
    were ordered to proceed back to the sitting-room. Many of the
    patients crowded near us, and I was again urged to play, both by

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    them and by the nurses. To please the patients I promised to play
    and Miss Tillie Mayard was to sing. The first thing she asked me to
    play was “Rock-a-bye Baby,” and I did so. She sang it beautifully.

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    Ten Days in a Mad-House

    CHAPTER XI.
    IN THE BATH.
    A FEW more songs and we were told to go with Miss Grupe. We
    were taken into a cold, wet bathroom, and I was ordered to undress.
    Did I protest? Well, I never grew so earnest in my life as when I tried
    to beg off. They said if I did not they