After what seemed to her hours of lying still, listening to the monotonous squeak, Ruth crept out of bed and stole to the door. Miss Hester, her head against the back of the chair, her eyes fixed on space was still rocking back and forth. Her hands held no work, her supper dishes stood unwashed. Such a condition of affairs displayed an unusual state of mind. Miss Hester was never idle and to leave one's supper dishes unwashed was a sign that something far beyond the ordinary must be the matter. If it were certain that Ruth was not to leave her adopted mother, why this anxious countenance, these troubled eyes and unsmiling mouth? The child crept nearer.
The slight noise she made aroused Miss Hester. "Why, child," she said, "what are you doing up? You should have been asleep long ago."
"I couldn't go to sleep," Ruth replied. "My eyes would pop open. I counted ever so many, up to a thousand, I think, and I tried to see sheep jumping over a fence, like you did that time you told the doctor you couldn't sleep, but I just wanted to ask you so many questions that I couldn't think of anything else."
"Get my big shawl to wrap around you and come satisfy your curiosity, if that is what is troubling you," said Miss Hester, smiling.
Ruth padded back to Miss Hester's room, found the shawl and trailed back with the fringe tickling her bare ankles. She climbed into Miss Hester's lap and stuck her feet out toward the stove in which a fire still burned.
"I want to know first," she began, "how that man knows he is my uncle."
"He was attracted to you by your likeness to your father and the name of Ruth. When he left you, he went back to the hotel and inquired into your history. Mrs. Green of course knew all about you and gave him a full account of how you came to be my little girl."
"When she told him that he ought to have been satisfied," Ruth commented. "He oughtn't to have come here bothering us. What did he do it for, when he knew I truly belonged to you?"
"Because he had promised your father to try to find you and your mother. He traced you both to Elder Street and learned that your mother had died there and that you had been taken away."
"What's become of my father, and why didn't he come back to us?" Ruth spoke resentfully.
"He meant to come, your uncle said, but he had a hard time of it and was not one to be very successful in this world. He was taken ill out west and, when he knew he could not live, he sent word to your uncle who went out and stayed with him till he died. Before that, your father had written to your mother but his letter was returned. It was just before he died that your uncle promised to find you and your mother, and if either were living to do all he could for you."
"Your uncle said that up to that time he had no idea that his brother had left home. He had not heard from him for two or three years, for they lived quite far apart, and your uncle, being a successful man, had no patience with your father who was unsuccessful. He felt that your father had been extravagant in spending all the money which had been left him by his father, and told him he must shift for himself. Do you understand all this, Ruth?"
"Yes, I think so. Mother said father wasn't a bad man."
"No, I don't think he was, only foolish and extravagant, with no idea of business. Instead of living simply on the income from his money, he lived beyond his means, invested his money foolishly and lost it all. Then with the idea that he could make another fortune, he left home only to become worse off and to die among strangers."
"I suppose," said Ruth sagely, after a short silence, "that he didn't like to come home till he had some money to bring mother, and he never came because he hadn't any to bring."
"That is about the way it was."
"It wasn't very kind, though, to leave mother alone," said Ruth. "I think he ought to have stayed to take care of her or else he ought to have taken us with him."
"It would seem so, dear, but I think he couldn't bear to have your mother earning money to support him. It would have been another to feed. Before he went away, she was earning a little by writing for newspapers."
Ruth nodded. She remembered the constant writing interrupted by the haunting cough. She sat thinking it all over. After a time she turned suddenly. "One more to feed does make a difference; Billy says so."
"Yes, I am sorry to say it does," returned Miss Hester with a sigh.
"Then I don't think father was so very wrong," said the child maturely. "I can love him and be sorry for him if that is why he went away, and I think that is the way mother felt, too. She knew he meant to come back. I will go to bed now, Aunt Hester."
She slipped down from Miss Hester's lap, but, as she trailed through the door to her room, she stopped.
"There's one more thing I'd like to ask, Aunt Hester. When is the man—my uncle, coming to see me?"
"To-morrow."
"How did he happen to come here to look for me?"
"He wasn't looking for you, but you happened to come in his way while he was in the town on business. He says, though, that he never has failed to look for you everywhere he has been. Now, is that all? You will not want to get up in the morning."
Ruth nodded gravely and crept into bed again, her mind full of old memories and new thoughts.
Uncle Sidney
THE next afternoon, Ruth and Billy had a long and earnest talk in the wood-shed. The visit of her uncle had been of enough importance for Ruth to be kept home from school and she was now in a very excited state of mind. She had waited with much impatience Billy's return from school, for there were many things which she must ask him, things which she felt she could not question Miss Hester about. She sat now upon a tall chest, her feet dangling dejectedly. There were marks of tears upon her face and she held her hands nervously clasped.
Billy sat upon an overturned box. From time to time, he flung a chip to Stray who, with head on one side, watched eagerly for the attention and, so soon as the chip was near enough, snatched at it, then grabbing it, played with it till it ceased to be a novelty. He then planted himself within Billy's range again looking inquiringly for the next chip. Neither Billy nor Ruth paid much attention to his antics.
"You see," Ruth was saying, "it is all for me to decide. Aunt Hester says she cannot do it, and says it must be as I say. My uncle talked and talked. He told me I should have music lessons and that I should be sent to a good school and all that. I am sure this school is good enough and I don't care a bit about the music lessons. I'd rather know how to draw pictures than to play the piano. You know, Billy, there is only one thing makes me think I ought to go, and that is Aunt Hester. You know what you said about another mouth to feed. I'm another mouth, you know, and if it makes Aunt Hester work so hard to feed me, maybe I ought not to stay."
Billy was silent for a moment and stopped throwing sticks to Stray. When he spoke, he said very thoughtfully, "I'm the one to go away, not you. I'm a boy and can make my own living."
"Oh, no, for you see you haven't any relations like my Uncle Sidney," returned Ruth. "And, besides, who would chop the wood and do the errands, Billy? Then if you went away, who would keep store and buy back the big house for Aunt Hester? It would be foolish for you to go when I have an uncle to take care of me."
With his duties as man of the house thus brought to his mind, Billy demurred. Perhaps after all, his place was here.
"If I only wasn't another mouth," Ruth went on, "or if I were a dog like Stray and could live on scraps, or if I were a cat and could catch mice."
"Then nobody would want you," said Billy.
"Indeed they would then. There are ever so many people who like cats if you don't. Aunt Hester does and so do I and so does Lucia. Oh dear, I should hate to give up Lucia. I wish I ought not to go instead of oughting to go."
"Maybe you'll like it awful much," said Billy, encouragingly. "Maybe your uncle has lots of boys and girls and you'll have fun with them."
"No, he hasn't. He has only one little boy about five years old. Billy, promise me on your sacred word and honor that you will come and get me just as soon as you begin to keep store, or, if Aunt Hester gets the claim, before that."
Billy nodded gravely. He wished it were not right to tell Ruth that it would be best for her to leave them. He felt that he would miss her sadly and that one small boy in the house with a grave elderly woman would not have as agreeable a time as when a youthful comrade like Ruth was on hand to take an interest in small matters beneath the notice of their elders.
Ruth had always a lively imagination and was vastly amusing at times. To be sure, she was very often absorbed in her doll or in Lucia Field, but, at other times, she and Billy had most exciting plays in which she was almost as good fun as a boy, he told her. He thought of all this now, but his loyalty to Miss Hester and his practical bent made him repeat:
"I guess you'll have to go, Ruth."
But Ruth had been thinking, too. "I'll go, but I'm not going to promise to stay. I'm coming back the first chance I get. If I find a thousand dollars that nobody wants, or if I do something like saving a train from running off the track, and they give me a whole lot of money for it, or if—or if—the claim comes out all right, I'll come straight back, so I just won't think that I'm going for good, and I am going in now to tell Aunt Hester so."
"Don't tell her it's because you know she can't afford to keep you," charged Billy, bluntly.
"Of course not," returned Ruth. She jumped down from her seat and went slowly back to the house. Miss Hester was sitting at the window of her room which looked out upon the street. She had her lap full of little garments upon which she was sewing a missing button here, a tape there.
"This isn't Saturday," said Ruth. "What are all these?"
She came nearer and put an arm around Miss Hester's neck.
"They are some of Henrietta's things. I didn't know but that you would need them," answered Miss Hester, soberly.
"Won't my uncle buy me any clothes?"
"He will probably buy all you need, but I don't want to have you go away unprovided for. I suppose you must go, Ruth. I should be doing you a wrong to encourage you to do otherwise."
"I'm not going for good," returned Ruth confidently. "I am going only for a little while till something happens. If you get the claim, you know, or if I find a whole lot of money, I will come back. Even if those things don't happen, Billy will come for me as soon as he is big enough to keep store."
Miss Hester smiled faintly. "I am afraid it will be many a day before that."
Ruth shook her head. "I'm not going to think I'll be gone long. I will tell my uncle that I am going to stay only a little while, that I am coming back to you and that I love you better than him or anybody."
The feeling that this departure was in the nature of a visit made her more cheerful. Like all children, she loved excitement and change, and, since she had decided that she was to return, there was only left a rather pleasant anticipation instead of a grief.
It was well for Miss Hester that the time for preparation was short for Mr. Mayfield could wait only another day, and so Ruth's belongings were hastily packed. That she might make a good appearance, the store of clothing in the chest up-stairs was drawn forth and all of Henrietta's things that were in good order were packed in a small trunk. Hetty, too, was given room, and Ruth begged that her box of pieces might go in.
"It will make me feel like home to see all my doll rugs," she said.
And Miss Hester stowed away the box just as it was.
At the last moment, Billy, who had been struggling between his love for Ruth and his love for Stray, came forward, insisting that Ruth must take the little dog with her, since he belonged half to her and could not be divided.
But, though Ruth would have liked dearly to have him, Miss Hester decided otherwise.
"You don't know that your uncle's wife would be willing to have a dog in the house. Indeed, I think it is quite unlikely that she would consent to your having him, for there is the little boy to be considered."
"I think you are awfully good, Billy, to want me to have him," Ruth declared, "and I'd just love to take him, but, you see, I have Hetty for company and you won't have anybody to play with but Stray."
But Billy was determined that she should receive some token, and, from his little hoard which he was saving up for Christmas, he took out sufficient to buy a gayly flowered mug upon which was written in gold letters: "From a Friend."
Ruth thought it was beautiful and begged Miss Hester to pack it very carefully.
"I will use it every day at table," she said.
Then, after whispering to Miss Hester, she left the room and returned with a red silk handkerchief which Dr. Peaslee had once brought her after a visit to the city.
"I want you to have this to remember me by," she said to Billy, and he accepted the gift solemnly.
At last the little trunk was packed and stood waiting.
Then Ruth went to make some hurried farewell calls. To all inquiries, she replied that she was going to her uncle's to make a visit, but that she expected to be back soon. So often did she repeat this that she persuaded herself it must be true until the last moment when the possibility of its not being merely a visit faced her, and she flung herself into Miss Hester's arms in a passion of weeping.
"I—don't want to go. I—I don't want to go," she sobbed.
"You needn't, dear, you needn't," whispered Miss Hester herself feeling very heavy hearted.
But just then Billy came rushing in shouting: "He's come in a carriage, Ruth, to take you to the station."
And the dignity of such a departure for the moment caused Ruth to check her tears. It would be a triumphant exit, she considered. And after one last frantic hug and the passionate reiteration, "I am coming back soon, I am, I am," she obeyed her uncle's call and was helped into the carriage, her trunk being already established by the side of the driver. She waved her handkerchief from the carriage window. Her last glimpse of the brown house showed Billy at the gate holding up Stray for her to see. Miss Hester was not in sight. She had gone indoors where no one would observe her tearful eyes.
Soon the carriage turned into the main street. The children were on their way to school, and to Ruth's satisfaction, they passed Nora Petty, to whom Ruth gave a condescending nod. She was riding away into new splendors where Nora could no longer twit and tease her.
As the train moved out of the station, there came over the child an overpowering desire to jump out and run back to Aunt Hester who loved her, to Billy and Stray, to the little brown house which she might never see again. The big tear drops rolled down her cheeks. She wiped them furtively away as she kept her head turned as if looking out the window. Her handkerchief became a damp little ball in her hand and the telegraph poles, as they flashed by, were seen through a watery mist. Her uncle wisely said nothing to her for a time, but absorbed himself in his newspaper, but, when the train boy came along, he bought some fine fruit and a box of chocolates saying cheerfully, "Here, little girl, don't you want to see what is in the box?"
Her thoughts diverted in such an agreeable way, the worst was over for Ruth and she turned to the sweets for solace. After a while her uncle began to talk to her, to tell her of his home, of his little boy, Bertie, and from this he went back to his own childhood when he and Ruth's father were playmates together. So the morning was not very long, though Ruth was glad when she climbed down from the cars to take luncheon at a station where they tarried for half an hour.
It was late in the afternoon when they arrived in front of her uncle's door. Ruth observed what to her was a very fine house, and, when she entered the hall, she was quite overcome, for, to her inexperienced eye, it appeared a mansion magnificent beyond her highest expectations.
They had hardly entered before a piping voice called out: "There's papa," and swiftly sliding down the baluster came the figure of a little boy. He came with such speed that he nearly fell off when he reached the big newel post, but his father caught him.
"You rascal," he cried, "what did I tell you about doing that?"
"It's so much the quickest way to get here, papa," said Bertie. "What did you bring me?"
"I brought a little new cousin."
Bertie turned and regarded Ruth with anything but an amiable expression. "I don't want her," he said. "I want something nice. Didn't you bring me any candy?"
Mr. Mayfield looked rather abashed. "To tell you the truth, son, I didn't," he began.
But Bertie interrupted him with a loud wail. "Mamma, mamma," he cried, "he didn't bring me any candy and you said he would." Then throwing himself down on the floor, he kicked and screamed violently.
Ruth heard the swish of silken skirts and down the stairs a lady came swiftly. She was very fair and looked quite young. Ruth had never seen any one dressed so wonderfully, and she stared with all her eyes at the vision.
"What is the matter with my darling?" cried the lady. "Oh, have you come, Sidney?" She gave Ruth's uncle a cheek to kiss. "What is my precious boy crying about?" she asked bending over the raging child.
"Papa didn't bring me any candy and you said he would," howled Bertie. "You are an old—"
"There, there," began his mother gathering him into her arms. "How could you be so forgetful of the precious child, Sidney?" she said reproachfully.
"Well, you see, Lillie, I had so much to think of. Oh, by the way, Ruth, this is your Aunt Lillie. Did you get my telegram, dear?"
"Oh, yes, it came all right, of course," replied Mrs. Mayfield petulantly. "You ought to have given me more notice."
"How could I? My letter explained why."
Ruth stood awkwardly by. She had not received a very warm welcome, for Mrs. Mayfield only nodded and said coolly, "How do you do, little girl?"
Bertie's howls continued.
"I wish I had something to give the child to pacify him," muttered Mr. Mayfield who saw that no one would receive much attention until Bertie's fit of rage was over.
He turned apologetically to Ruth. "You don't happen to have any candy, do you?" he whispered.
Ruth promptly produced the box of chocolates which was but half empty. She had been so much more abundantly fed than usual that she had not been able to eat all the candy.
"Just give them to Bertie," whispered Mr. Mayfield, "and I will get you some more."
Ruth obediently slipped the box into his hand and he gave her a smile.
"Here, Bertie," he said, "see what Cousin Ruth has for you. Papa didn't bring you any candy, but Cousin Ruth did."
At this Bertie rushed from his mother's embrace and grabbed the box from his father's hand.
"'Tain't but, half full," he whined. Then turning, he gave Ruth a push. "You mean old fing," he cried, "why didn't you bring me a whole box?"
"Now, Bertie," said his mother, "that's not a pretty way to talk. I am sure you ought to say, 'Thank you,' to your cousin. Won't you say, 'Thank you'?"
"No, I won't," returned Bertie, beginning to gobble down some of the chocolates as fast as he could.
Ruth was shocked. Such an ill-mannered child she had never seen. She felt mightily ashamed for him.
"I suspect Ruth is rather tired," said Mr. Mayfield. "You'd better show her to her room, Lillie."
For answer, Mrs. Mayfield touched an electric button and a neat maid appeared. "Take Miss Ruth to her room," said the lady, "and help her dress for dinner, Katie."
Ruth followed the girl up three flights of stairs, catching glimpses on the way of rooms whose elegant furnishings seemed to her fit for a palace. At the top of the house, she was ushered into a hall bedroom, comfortably, even prettily, furnished. It looked out upon the street, but it seemed to Ruth, accustomed to her little room adjoining Aunt Hester's, a long way off from any one, and she wondered if she would not feel afraid up there. She timidly asked Katie who had the next room.
"Nobody, miss," was the reply. "It's one of the spare rooms, but it ain't often used except when there's more company than common. But I sleep just down the hall in one of the back rooms."
This was comforting and Ruth felt relieved. The trunk having now arrived, Katie fell to unpacking it. She smiled at the old-fashioned clothes, but made no remark, being too well-trained a servant for that. She selected Ruth's very best frock, a cream-white delaine with small Persian figures upon it. The frock was trimmed with an old-fashioned gimp, heading a narrow fringe, but its quaintness suited Ruth and she looked very presentable, Katie thought, as she led her down-stairs when a soft-toned Japanese gong announced that dinner was ready.
Homesick
IN spite of such luxuries as Ruth had never before enjoyed, and the fact that there was little restraint put upon her, she did not feel in her new home a real content.
After a week it was decided that she should not go to school, Mrs. Mayfield insisting upon a governess who could give some attention to Bertie. One was found who suited the lady but to whom Ruth took a dislike at first sight, and never thereafter did she feel comfortable when Mlle. Delarme's sharp eyes were fixed upon her. Lessons in French and music were those upon which Mademoiselle laid the most stress, the rest amounted to little.
Mademoiselle was sly and put forth her best efforts to please Mrs. Mayfield, and, consequently, made much of Bertie. Ruth, though well clothed and fed, starved for those things which she craved. She longed for her Aunt Hester's loving notice and appreciation. She sighed for Billy's bluff companionship, and she was very, very lonely. Her uncle was absorbed in business and she saw him seldom. He always gave her a kind smile when they met, asked if she were well, and if she needed anything and there the interest ended.
On several different occasions, he had given her money, telling her to spend it on whatever she liked, but she, with a wise frugality, had saved nearly every penny till her hoard amounted to nearly five dollars. At Christmas she would perhaps spend it to send home gifts to those she truly loved.
Mrs. Mayfield was fond of society and was rarely at home unless to entertain some guest. The children had their meals in the nursery with Mademoiselle, took their drives and walks with her, and although Bertie would not be kept within bounds and frequented any part of the house at will, Ruth rarely went beyond the confines of the nursery. She still had her little hall bedroom, and Mademoiselle was now given a room upon the same floor, though Ruth would have preferred her to be elsewhere.
"J'ai, tu as, il a," crooned Ruth one afternoon as she sat in the nursery, studying a lesson.
"Oh dear, I don't want to study French," she sighed. "It won't be a bit of use to me, for when I grow up I shall go back to Springdale. I may go sooner than that. None of the girls there will learn French. Well, perhaps Lucia will if she goes away to boarding-school, and perhaps Nora might. I reckon after all I'd better study it, for Nora might get ahead of me and say things to Lucia that I couldn't understand."
So she bent herself again to her task. "J'ai, tu as, il a. Nous avons, vous avez, ils ont." Her eyes wandered from her book.
She looked out of the window to where a pair of sparrows were fussing and quarreling on a twig near-by. There was little else to be seen but roofs and chimneys, a church spire in the distance and a line of fence enclosing back yards. Her eyes returned to her book.
"J'ai, tu as, il a. I think I know that. Now those horrid exercises. Why should I care anything about the brother of his aunt? It doesn't make any difference to me whether she has a gold shoe or not. French is so silly. We never talk about such things."
At this moment, she heard Bertie's hurrying step upon the stair and presently he came dancing into the room crying: "Ya! Ya! Ya! I've got it."
Ruth looked up quickly to catch sight of Bertie jumping around the room holding aloft her precious Hetty. She sprang to her feet in an instant and snatched the doll away. Bertie flew at her in a transport of rage, but she held the doll tightly though he kicked and yelled.
The commotion brought Mrs. Mayfield who chanced to be at home. "What is it, precious?" she cried as she entered the room.
"Ruth won't let me have that old doll and I'm going to get it, I am. I'll smash it all to pieces," cried Bertie, dancing up and down in a fury.
"Why don't you let him have it, Ruth?" said Mrs. Mayfield. "I'll get you a better one."
"I don't want a better one," replied Ruth, fiercely. "I don't want any but this. There isn't another like her and you couldn't get me one that would be half so dear."
"Well, I am sure you are very disobliging," said Mrs. Mayfield. "Never mind, Bertie, if you want a doll to play with mother will get you one much prettier than this."
"Don't want it. Want one to smash," cried Bertie.
"Oh, but you don't want to smash Ruth's doll, do you?" asked his mother in a coaxing tone.
"Yes, I do, I do. It's ugly and I'm going to. Make her give it to me, mamma."
"Do give it to him, Ruth," continued Mrs. Mayfield. "I will give you a much handsomer one. You shall go down-town with Mademoiselle and choose any you want."
But Ruth held steadfastly to her own. "I don't want any other and I couldn't give this away to be broken up," she said. "She's the only one of the family I have here to remind me of my home, and I can't give her up."
Whereupon, Bertie burst into screams of anger and disappointment, flinging himself upon the floor in one of his fits of temper.
"After all your uncle has done for you, I think it is a very little thing to ask," said Mrs. Mayfield in an offended way, addressing Ruth. Then meeting no response, she took a different tone. "You must give it to him, Ruth. I wish you to obey me."
"Oh, Aunt Lillie, I can't." The tears came into Ruth's eyes as she held Hetty more tightly.
"I command you," returned Mrs. Mayfield, haughtily, and then all Ruth's defiance was aroused.
"I won't," she said. Then she started for the door. "I reckon you wouldn't give your child either, to be torn to pieces by a—by a—wicked Thing," she cried as she reached the door.
She hurried up-stairs feeling that here was an occasion which did not demand obedience, yet frightened at her speech. There was not a day when she was not called upon to give up something to Bertie, to sacrifice her pleasures, her time, her possessions to his whims.
"He is younger than you," was always the plea, and Ruth, though not always with a good grace, yielded the point. But here was an issue which she felt was a different one from any that she had been called upon to meet.
"It isn't right; it isn't," she said over and over to herself as she climbed the stairs. "Aunt Hester wouldn't make me do it. I know she wouldn't. Why Aunt Hester loves Hetty and Dr. Peaslee does and Billy, and—why they would think it as bad as throwing a baby to the crocodiles like a heathen mother. I'll have to hide you, Hetty darling, like Moses in the bulrushes or like they had to hide the babies from wicked old Herod. Bertie is just like Herod, so he is. I don't love him one bit, and I am going to write to Aunt Hester, and tell her all about it. Oh, where can I hide you, my darling Hetty, so the wicked evil foe will not seek you?"
Bertie's screams still ascended from the floor below and Ruth could hear his mother trying to comfort him.
"Did that naughty Ruth tease my baby? Wouldn't she let him have the ugly old doll? Never mind, mamma will let Katie take him down-town and get him something nice. What does baby want?"
"Want Ruth's doll," persisted Bertie.
"Oh, but wouldn't you like some nice candy and a pretty toy? Let Katie dress you and take you out to get you something nice? We won't get Ruth anything, will we? She shall not go with you and Katie."
Ruth's lip curled as she heard this. "Silly talk," she murmured. She had no great respect for her Aunt Lillie.
At last Bertie was pacified and was led away by the long-suffering nurse while Ruth remained in her room.
Mademoiselle was out for the afternoon, and when she had completed the task the governess had set her to do, she would be free to do as she chose.
Bertie seldom descended upon Ruth, and indeed, she was careful to have nothing within reach of his mischievous fingers, but to-day she had left Hetty sitting upon the bed and Bertie had discovered her. It would never do to leave her anywhere in sight again, nor could she keep her where an older person than Bertie might find her. Ruth did not trust Mademoiselle, and believed if Bertie persisted in wanting the doll, as he was very likely to do, that Mademoiselle would not hesitate to find Hetty and give her into the little boy's ruthless hands.
She closed her door softly and looked around the room for a hiding-place. None seemed possible at first, but at last Ruth discovered a safe one. A small window seat had been placed before the one window. It opened and shut like a box. Between the back of this box and the wall under the window there was a space over which a small board had been placed to cover the space which was caused by a slight jutting out of the window, making an irregular opening. Ruth found that she could lift the board, shove it back in place and cover it again with the cushion of the seat. She gave Hetty a loving kiss and stowed her away in this retreat.
"You mustn't be afraid, dearest," she said. "Nothing shall hurt you. I shall not let anything smite you by day nor by night. I'll pray that the angels will watch over you just as much as if they could see you in bed with me. I shall take you out every day and lock my door so we won't be disturbed."
And she went back to her French exercises with a cheerful face. When she had completed them, she heard the clamor of Bertie's return and ran back to her room.
Her aunt treated her with cold disdain when they next met and Ruth gave her head a little defiant toss.
"If she 'spises me, I reckon I can 'spise her," she told herself, and more than ever she kept out of the way.
She had been in her aunt's rooms but seldom, though the magnificence of them charmed her. On the dressing-table were such beautiful shining things; the soft couch was piled high with wonderfully embroidered cushions, and the whole place was always redolent with some faint sweet odor. The costumes which Mrs. Mayfield wore, too, were such as Ruth thought fit for a queen. Once or twice she had seen her sweeping down the stairway in exquisite evening dress and she wondered what Nora Petty would say if she knew Ruth were living in the same house as such a fairylike being.
Although she gave a wondering admiration to all the beautiful things with which her Aunt Lillie surrounded herself, Ruth gave her aunt no affection, for she did not demand it. She treated the child with tolerance but that was all. Bertie occupied the only place which she had in her heart for children, and him she spoiled and petted till all natural good in his nature was smothered by indulgence.
Bertie did not forgot the doll in spite of the candy and the new toy with which his mother had provided him, and the very next day he climbed the stairs to the top floor bent on finding Hetty. It was sufficient for Bertie to be denied a thing for him to want it beyond anything else. He looked around the room. No doll was in sight, but on Ruth's washstand stood the little flowery mug, Billy's parting gift. Possessing himself of this, he went down to the nursery where Ruth was reciting her "J'ai, tu as, il a."
"I want Ruth's doll," he said to Mademoiselle.
"He can't have it," returned Ruth quickly.
Mademoiselle looked sharply at her. "Vy not, mees?"
"Because he only wants it to break up and I can't have her smashed all to pieces."
"I want to play wif her. Mayn't I play wif her?" whined Bertie.
"You may play wis har, of course. Go get zis doll, zis poupée but say first what is doll. It is poupée, poupée. Repeat."
"Poupée, poupée," repeated Ruth obediently.
"Say, zen to your cousin, 'I give you my doll—Je vous donne ma poupée.' Repeat."
But Ruth did not repeat. Instead she stood silent.
Mademoiselle's little eyes snapped. "Repeat, I say. At once; toute de suite. Je vous donne ma poupée."
"I can't," replied Ruth in a low tone. "I would be telling a story, because I am not going to give him my doll."
"You are not when I say?" Mademoiselle sprang to her feet. "You sall, you mees, I make you."
Ruth faced her, very pale. "What will you do?" she asked slowly.
"I punish you."
"Then I will tell my uncle and I will ask him, too, if I must give my precious doll to Bertie to break up. I will tell him all about my Hetty and I know he will not make me give her up."
"You meeserable leetle mouse, you souris which pretend so shy and meek and have the viciousness of a rat, you sall not defy me, Antoinette Delarme."
Just at this moment, Bertie entered, having taken his cause into his own hands. "You'd better give me your old doll," he threatened, holding behind him the mug which he had brought from Ruth's room. "You'd just better or you'll be sorry."
"I shall not do it," said Ruth steadily.
For answer Bertie dashed out in the hall, held aloft the mug for a moment and then flung it down over the baluster. It went crashing into a hundred bits upon the marble tiling in the hall below. Having thus spent his fury, Bertie dashed away with an impish look over his shoulder.
Ruth flew down-stairs without a word from Mademoiselle. The butler was sweeping up the broken pieces.
"Oh, Martin," said Ruth, "it is my dear little mug. Bertie got it from my room and threw it down here. Can it be mended, do you think?"
With a grim smile Martin showed the pieces.
The tears came to Ruth's eyes. "And Billy bought it for me with his own money," she said, her lips quivering at the remembrance. "Oh, Martin, please let me have one little flowery piece to keep," she said.
The man held out the dust-pan and Ruth selected a piece upon which a rose still showed entire. "I'll keep this forever," she said. "Thank you, Martin."
The man shook his head as he looked after her making her way to the upper floor. "That spoiled young un," he muttered. "I'd just like to see him get one good spanking."
Mademoiselle sat up stiff and uncompromising when Ruth returned to the nursery. "Babee," she said contemptuously, as she perceived Ruth's tears. "What is it to weep for, a leetle cheap sumpsin as zat?"
"It wasn't because I thought it was very fine," said Ruth, "but it was because Billy gave it to me. I was going to drink my milk from it at the table, but I saw it looked funny with the other things and so I kept it in my room. Bertie knew I loved it."
"He is but an infant," returned Mademoiselle, "but because he have bestowed upon you a punishment, I will not more punish you for the disobeying me except that I make you a longer lesson to-morrow. You are repeat all the verb To Have, all, all."
"Oh, Mademoiselle, it will take me every minute to learn it."
"All, all," repeated Mademoiselle with a wave of her hand as dismissing the subject.
And Ruth, with a rebellious feeling in her heart, went to her task.
She listened that evening for her uncle's latchkey, hiding herself behind the heavy curtains of the library.
As his step rang upon the tiled floor, she went to meet him.
"Well, Ruthie," he said kindly, "are you the only one at home?"
"Aunt Lillie has gone to a tea," she replied, "and I don't know where Bertie is. Uncle Sidney, do I have to give him my doll?"
"Your doll? Bertie doesn't play with dolls, does he?"
"He wants mine."
And then Ruth told him how she came into possession of Hetty, of how Henrietta had come to grief, ending with, "And there isn't another one like Hetty in all the world, Uncle Sidney. I love her so dearly."
He put his hand on her head. "No," he said, "of course, you don't have to give her up. Lillian certainly spoils that boy," he added half to himself.
Then to Ruth. "If anybody wants to interfere with your belongings, little girl, just send them to me. I'll speak to your Aunt Lillie about this."
And Ruth was going away satisfied, leaving her uncle to his newspaper and the comfort of the library fire, when he called her back. "Here are some picture papers," he said, "don't you want to look at them?"
He produced a bundle of papers, unrolled them upon the table before her, and she felt a warmth of heart at the unwonted attention.
Mrs. Mayfield coming a few minutes later, looked with surprise at the child absorbed in the pictures. Ruth was rarely seen at that hour.
Mr. Mayfield glanced up from his paper. "See here, Lillie," he said, "don't insist upon Ruth's giving up her toys to Bertie. I won't have it. You spoil that boy."
"Oh," said Mrs. Mayfield giving Ruth a little contemptuous glance, "she has been telling tales, has she?"
"She has been defending her rights," returned Mr. Mayfield, "and I don't want the occasion for it to come again."
Mrs. Mayfield raised her eyebrows. "Such a tempest in a tea-pot," she said walking out of the room.
Ruth shot her a glance from under long lashes as the trailing velvet robes disappeared, a glance that was quite as scornful as Mrs. Mayfield could summon to her own face.
Signed, Simon Petty
IT was a week later that Ruth was in her room with Hetty sitting before her on the window seat. The house was very still. Bertie's howls did not cleave the air. The swish, swish of Mrs. Mayfield's silken petticoats was no longer heard; even Mademoiselle's high-pitched voluble French did not pierce the silence.
"I am very glad they didn't decide to take me, Hetty," said Ruth. "I'd much rather not go. Oh my, isn't it lovely to get rid of Bertie? Don't you feel glad that you don't have to stay down in your cave? Now that I haven't those hateful verbs to learn, I shall have time to sew for you, Hetty. I've hardly dared to more than take you out to look at you for a week, for although Uncle Sidney said I was not to give you up, Bertie would have come and taken you without the asking if you were within reach."
Hetty's smiling face seemed response enough to these confidences.
"Oh, Hetty," Ruth went on, "I am so glad that Mademoiselle is to be gone three whole days. For three whole days, we shall have everything to ourselves. I can take you down to the nursery when I have my meals and it will be so cozy, almost like being at home again. I wonder what they are doing there this minute. I haven't been very lucky yet in finding a whole lot of money to take us back, have I? I wonder when I shall go."
That morning Mrs. Mayfield in sudden alarm because of a cold Bertie had taken, insisted upon bearing him away to Lakewood for a week while Mr. Mayfield should be gone upon a business trip. Mademoiselle, feeling that this was a good opportunity to take a holiday, pleaded an ill friend and would be gone for three days.
"I simply cannot be bothered with two children in a hotel," Mrs. Mayfield had said to her husband, "and I don't believe Ruth would care a particle about going."
But Ruth's uncle consulted her before he settled the matter. He sought her out and asked:
"Do you want to go to Lakewood with your Aunt Lillie and Bertie, or would you rather stay here with the servants and Mademoiselle?"
Ruth hesitated for a moment. "I'd much rather stay here," she replied, "if—"
"If what?" asked her uncle.
"If Mademoiselle were not going to be here, too."
Mr. Mayfield laughed. "That's frank at least. Well, she is not to be here all the time. She is going away for three days. I shouldn't wonder if she stretched the time longer, and there will be only Katie to look after you. Mrs. Mayfield will take Minnie with her. The cook and Martin will have the house to see to. Can you stand a whole week in such company?"
"Oh, yes, for I'll have Hetty, you know."
"I may be back in two or three days myself."
"Then I should surely like to stay."
"Bless the child," murmured Mr. Mayfield. "I think then since you do not really care to go that we will leave you here," he added.
It was certainly an easy way to arrange affairs, for Katie was steady and conscientious. She could be relied upon to take good care of the little girl, and Mr. Mayfield promised himself a free afternoon when he would take his niece to a matinee and give her a little of the attention which he felt he had been rather chary of.
The quiet house was the result of all this, and Ruth was actually less lonely than when the coming and going of visitors, whom she never saw, the bustle of entertainments in which she had no part, and the noisy clamor of Bertie stirred the household.
"I think I'll take you down in the nursery now," she said to Hetty. "It's nice and warm there where the sunshine comes in the windows. I'll begin your new frock. Think of it, I have hardly looked at my box of pieces since I came. They will remind me of home so much. I shouldn't mind pulling out the stitches from old coats or doing anything, if I could only sit by Aunt Hester and hear Billy whistling in the wood-shed. There's that striped pocket; I'll use that."
Ruth unrolled the pocket. Something hard was in the bottom of it. She drew it out. She had forgotten the little wad of paper she had put there so long before. She pulled out the crumpled mass and began to smooth out the wrinkles. Something was written on the paper. She tried to read it, but the writing was too cramped and illegible for her childish powers. She could, however, make out the signature which was in quite different handwriting. The letters, big and black, were easily read.
"S-i-m-o-n—P-e-t-t-y," she spelled out. "I wonder what this is," she exclaimed. "I remember now I found it in the lining of the old coat. I think I will ask Martin if he can read it."
She folded the paper and stowed it away in her box of pieces, then, with Hetty carefully poised on her hand and the box under her arm, she went down to the nursery where she devoted the rest of the afternoon to the making of a striped pink frock for her doll.
At five o'clock it was quite dark. The lights in the hall were lighted and Katie came to turn them on in the nursery. Later, Martin appeared with Ruth's supper on a tray. At the sight of the lonely little figure, his dignity unbent.
"Lonely here, miss, by yourself?" he said.
"Oh, I am not so lonesome as if I didn't have Hetty, but I would like another little girl to play with. I wish you were a little girl, Martin."
Martin chuckled as he set down the tray.
"I can't say I quite echo your wish, miss. Cook made you a little cake just for yourself and she said I was to tell you the cream toast was special good. Is there anything else you would care for, miss? Oysters or a bit of cold ham?"
Ruth surveyed the tempting supper prepared for her: cream toast, broiled chicken, a small pot of cocoa, a fresh sponge cake scalloped and with a hole in the middle into which hole Martin had stuck a bunch of violets. Amber jelly and some fruit completed the bill of fare. Wouldn't Billy's eyes open if he could see all this served on beautiful cut glass and china? The thought of Billy reminded Ruth of the paper she had found in the pocket.
"There is only one thing I want, Martin," she said. "I wish you would read something for me."
She brought out the piece of paper and unfolded it before Martin. He screwed up his eyes, put his head to one side and scrutinized the paper carefully, turning it over to look at the reverse side.
"I can make out the Simon Petty," said Ruth by way of encouragement.
Martin nodded. "Yes, miss, that's plain enough. 'Tain't a very good plain fist, the rest of it, but as I make out, it's a receipt signed 'Simon Petty.'"
"What's a receipt?" asked Ruth quickly.
"It's to tell that some money has been paid. This here," he pointed to the paper, "seems to say that Francis Blackberry, or some such name, has paid Petty five thousand dollars—payment in full of money advanced. It reads like that."
"Couldn't it be Francis Brackenbury? Are you sure it's Blackberry?" said Ruth eagerly.
"Come to look at it I guess it might be Brackenbury, but it's such twistified sort of writing it's hard to tell, but I guess you are right and it's Brackenbury."
"He did pay it, he did," said Ruth excitedly. "Aunt Hester said so."
"You know the parties, then? How did you happen to get hold of this?"
"I found it in an old overcoat pocket. Aunt Hester ripped up the coat and I was picking out the Indians, the stitches, you know, and I forgot and stuck this in the pocket after I found it way down in a corner of the coat between the cloth and the lining. I was going to make a frock for Hetty out of the pocket. Oh, Martin, do you suppose it is worth anything?"
Martin scratched his head. "I ain't much of a lawyer, but it might be worth keeping, or it may be an old paper that nobody cares anything about. It might save a heap of trouble in case this here Blackberry died and Simon Petty was mean enough to claim his debt."
"Not Blackberry, Martin," said Ruth reproachfully.
"Well, never mind the name. You know sometimes when a man dies there's claimants comes forward for money that's been paid, and if he's a married man and his relic ain't got any receipt to show, why it makes trouble."
"What's a relic? It has something to do with war, hasn't it?"
"There is war relics, but this kind is a man's widow, the wife he leaves behind him."
"Suppose he doesn't leave any."
"Then he has heirs, sons or daughters, maybe."
"Major Brackenbury had a daughter and she's my Aunt Hester."
"You'd better send this to her, then. It might save paying out five thousand dollars a second time."
"Is five thousand dollars much money?"
"It would buy a pretty good house in some places. But your supper is getting cold, miss."
"Oh, well, I'll eat it. Thank you ever so much, Martin, for telling me all about the receipt. Tell Maria I am much obliged for the cake; it is so brown and lovely, and thank whoever put the dear little bunch of violets in the middle. You may go now, Martin."
She spoke in the little superior way in which Mrs. Mayfield gave her orders, and Martin smiled.
"It's a little lady," he said to the cook. "She didn't forget the 'Thank you' to send you, and was as pleased as Punch at the cake and flowers. She's a high and mighty way, too, when she needs it, and that's what a lady should have."
Much as Ruth enjoyed her supper, she would have given more thought to it, if she had not been so concerned about the receipt. She would send it to Miss Hester, or—no—if she could only know whether it meant that they could really go back to the big house, or that it would give enough to Miss Hester to allow of her taking Ruth back into her home, how quickly would the child hasten there. It would be a fine opportunity just now. If only Dr. Peaslee were here for her to consult. He had told her before she left Springdale that if ever she needed advice or help to write to him.
"I'll do it," she said. "I'll write to him this very evening and get Martin to mail the letter for me."
She set to work as soon as her supper was over and managed a tolerably fair page to send to the doctor. The spelling was not so good as the handwriting, for the latter was something upon which Ruth prided herself.
"Dear Doctor," she wrote, "I found a reseat sined Simon Petty I am going to send it to you but if you are coming to the sitty soon praps I'd better keep it till you come. I am very well and so is Hetty. We had supper together and there were vilets in the cake. If you had been here, I would have given you some. Hetty sends her love to you. Your loving friend,""RUTH HENRIETTA BRACKENBURY.""P. S. dont tell Aunt Hester about the reseat till we know more about it. She might be orfully disappointed if it should turn out not to be good. Wouldn't it be nice if it would get us all back in the big house."
It was rather a vague letter, but might have had its effect if the doctor had been at home when it arrived. He had gone to a convention, however, and, as he expected to return in a couple of days, he had ordered his mail to be held at home for him.
Ruth waited one, two, three days; then she took alarm. Suppose the letter had been lost. She knew such things did sometimes occur.
"I am glad I didn't send the receipt," she said to herself.
The child was growing very lonely. Her longing for love and companionship was waxing greater and greater.
There was no sign of Mr. Mayfield's immediate return. He had sent a brief note to Martin saying that he was still detained by business. Mademoiselle was lingering, making the most of her holiday and the days seemed very long to Ruth. She went to drive in state sometimes, or Katie took her for a walk, but it was cold weather to be sitting in squares where she fain would have tarried in the summertime.
And so the longing to see Aunt Hester and Billy, Lucia and Annie, Dr. Peaslee and all her well tried friends grew stronger each day. And at the end of the week, she had made her plans and had revealed them to Martin who, solemn and stiff enough in his office as butler, had nevertheless, a warm heart and did his best to cheer the loneliness of the little girl.
"How much does it cost to go to Springdale?" she asked him one afternoon.
"I don't exactly know, miss," was the reply. "But I can easy find out. I'll look it up this evening. I've got to go out before supper."
And so, when he brought up Ruth's supper to the nursery, Martin told her that a ticket would cost "a matter of four dollars."
Ruth counted out her store. "I have that much," she said, "and a little over. Oh, Martin, couldn't you put me on the train for Springdale?"
"Why, why, what's this, miss?"
"You know about that receipt. I wrote to Dr. Peaslee and he hasn't answered the letter, so I'm afraid he didn't get it, and I have been thinking how dreadful it would be if I should mail the receipt and it should get lost, so it seems to me I had better take it."
She paused a moment, then said wistfully: "And besides, Martin, I do so want to see Aunt Hester and Billy and all of them. I feel as if I couldn't stand it. You know if the receipt is all right I should go back anyhow. I don't believe any one here would miss me very much and I know they miss me there."
"Dear me, miss," said Martin, "I'm sure I should miss you mighty much."
"Thank you, Martin. You always say kind things and I wish you lived in Springdale instead of here."
"I can't say I wish that, but I shouldn't mind going there for a visit of a day. I've an old friend from England who has a shop there and I've promised to go to see him for many a long day."
"Oh, I wish you would go; I think it is very nice that you have a friend there. I wonder if I know him. What is his name, Martin?"
"John Fox, miss, and he keeps a green grocer shop."
"I think I know just who he is," said Ruth, in a pleased tone. "You see, Martin, I am really here only on a visit; I said that always, and that if ever something fine should happen I would go straight back to Aunt Hester. Maybe this receipt is just like finding money, and oh, how I should love to surprise them and be the one to take the receipt to Aunt Hester."
Martin stood with the carafe of water in his hand. He seemed to be thinking deeply.
"Do you think uncle would mind very much?" Ruth asked. "I know Aunt Lillie wouldn't, and when I 'splained about the receipt, it would be all right, wouldn't it, Martin?"
"I think so, miss. I'll have to think it over. I could get off for a couple days as well as not," he said half to himself. "James would see to things, I suppose. I'll speak to Katie when I go down," he said to Ruth. "I think perhaps Mr. Mayfield wouldn't mind if I took you there myself and brought you back."
"Oh, but—" Ruth began to say that maybe she would not come back, but she thought better of it. So she hastened to say: "I think you are as good as you can be, Martin."
In a little while Katie came up saying: "Martin tells me you and him is going on a lark. Well, I don't blame you, and I don't believe but what your uncle would like you to have a little change. What shall you want to take with you? I'll pack enough to last you for two or three days."
"I shall want to take Hetty," said Ruth.
"Of course. You'll be going to-morrow, Martin says, for Mr. Mayfield likely comes bank the first of the week."
"Oh, Katie, Katie, I am so happy. To-morrow, to-morrow I shall see them all. I want to go to bed very early so that morning will come soon."
"We'll go up and get you packed, then," said Katie, "and you'll have a good time, I'm sure. Faith, it's stupid enough for a child like you to be shut off from comrades of your own age. She'd never take the trouble to be findin' playmates foe you," she added, contemptuously.
Ruth knew well enough who the she meant, but she made no comment. What was Aunt Lillie to her now that she was to see Aunt Hester? She went to sleep and once laughed out loud because she dreamed that Stray, dressed up in Martin's livery, was taking her to see Dr. Peaslee.
A Journey
ALTHOUGH Ruth had still a very vague idea of the meaning of a receipt, she was still sufficiently impressed with its importance to hold to it very tenaciously and she carried it securely folded in a little old-fashioned bead bag which had belonged to Henrietta and which, in imitation of her Aunt Lillie, she had asked Katie to fasten securely to her belt.
It was a clear, cold winter's day. Katie had at first insisted upon dressing the child in her newer and more fashionable clothes which Mrs. Mayfield had provided for her, but Ruth begged so earnestly to be allowed to wear the red coat and plaid poplin dress that Katie yielded, compromising by placing upon the little girl's head a pretty beaver hat with its plumes which, as she said, gave her a bit of style.
Martin, shorn of his livery and in every-day clothes, lost some of his stateliness and looked an ordinary somebody. He rode on the box of the carriage with the coachman while Ruth, inside, was driven to the railway station, her heart beating fast and her eyes bright with excitement.
She put her hand confidently in Martin's when she was lifted from the carriage and possessing himself of the valise in which Katie had packed Ruth's clothing, the butler took his way to the cars, smiling down at the child as he seated himself by her side.
"Now, ain't this a frolic?" he said. "I don't know when I would have got to see John Fox if it hadn't been for you, and now here I'm travelin' off to Springdale with a young lady."
The hours seemed long but, as she drew nearer and nearer to her destination and certain points along the way began to look familiar, Ruth could scarcely restrain herself. She bobbed up and down in her seat, chattered like a magpie to Martin and once in a while gave a little squeak of pleasure as some well-known landmark caught her attention.
At the last stop before reaching Springdale, a portly gentleman entered the car where Ruth and her escort sat. As she caught sight of him Ruth sprang to her feet with an exclamation of surprise and pleasure.
"Dr. Peaslee," she cried in such shrill excited tones that persons turned their heads to see, and smiled when a little red-coated figure darted into the aisle and precipitated herself against the portly man with the humorous eyes and kind smile.
"Why, Ruth, little Ruth!" exclaimed the doctor, "Where under canopy did you come from and where are you going?"
"I'm going to Springdale; Martin is taking me."
The doctor piloted her to a seat across the aisle from the one in which she had been sitting.
"And who is Martin?" he asked.
"He is Uncle Sidney's butler. There he is over there." She indicated Martin by a nod in his direction.
"He is a nice man, a very nice man, indeed," Ruth went on. "He looks much finer in his livery, and he is very stern and straight when he is in the dining-room though you wouldn't think it to see him now when he looks just like any one else."
"But why is he taking you to Springdale?" asked the doctor.
"Oh, because there wasn't any one else to do it and it was a good chance for him to go to see John Fox. Do you know John Fox? Uncle is away on business and Aunt Lillie has taken Bertie to Lakewood. Bertie is horrid, doctor; he broke my dear little mug that Billy gave me just because I wouldn't let him have Hetty to break up. Would you have given her to him?"
"Hardly, I think, for that purpose."
"He is a dreadfully spoiled child," said Ruth sighing, "but Aunt Lillie thought he might get ammonia or something because he had a cold, and she took him away. Then Mademoiselle wanted to go see a sick lady, so I stayed with Katie and Maria and Martin because I didn't want to go to Lakewood. Did you get my letter?" she asked suddenly.
"Why no," the doctor answered. "Have you been writing to me? Then that is a pleasure I have in store for me when I get home. You see I have been away for several days. I am just getting back from a convention. I didn't think when I got on the train here at the junction that I should see you. What were you writing to me about? Anything in particular?"
"Yes, about the receipt," replied Ruth.
"What receipt?"
Ruth fumbled in her bead bag and drew forth the paper. "This," she said. "I didn't want to send it to Aunt Hester till I knew whether it was worth anything. Martin says it is a receipt from," she lowered her voice, "Simon Petty to Francis Brackenbury, only he will call it Blackberry. You know Uncle Sidney told them I was named Mayfield and they don't know I am really Ruth Brackenbury."
The doctor had taken the paper and was examining it carefully.
"The rascal!" Ruth heard him say under his breath. "The unmitigated scoundrel!"
"Is it worth anything?" asked Ruth, anxiously.
"I should say it was. Where on earth did you get it, Miss Mouse?"
Then Ruth told him the whole story; he nodded approvingly from time to time. At the close of her tale, he put the receipt carefully away in his pocketbook. "I'll take care of it," he said.
"Will it do Aunt Hester any good? Will it do her enough good for me to go back and live with her?"
"Do you want to go so much?"
"Oh, I do, I do. I would never have gone away only Billy said it would be better for Aunt Hester and she wouldn't have to work so hard."
The doctor's arm went around the child and he drew her close to him.
"Bless the little old woman," he said. "Well, Miss Mouse, I think, if I am not mistaken, it will mean that you can go back if you want to and if your uncle will consent, for this paper doesn't only mean that five thousand dollars have been paid but that all claims Simon Petty has pretended to hold were settled long ago."
"And can Aunt Hester have her house again?"
"I think so."
"Oh, good! Good! Is Simon Petty very mean?" she whispered.
The doctor was silent but he shook his head as if over the evil of the man. "He's a pretty sick mortal," the doctor told her, "and he has not long to live, but he will live long enough to set this matter straight or my name is not Tom Peaslee. Now you sit here; I want to go over to speak to your friend Martin."
He left Ruth sitting by herself, a little song in her heart which presently broke forth very softly from her lips.
"I'm going home, I'm going home. There's the church, and there's the steeple. Soon I'll see all my good people. I'm going home, I'm going home."
The train stopped. The doctor took Ruth by the hand. Martin followed with the baggage and in another moment the train was winding its way down the track leaving Ruth and her friends on the platform of the station at Springdale.
"You leave the little girl in my charge," said the doctor to Martin. "I will see her home. You will not have any too much time to hunt up your friends and so we need not tax you further. Thank you, Martin, for your kindness to our little girl."
He held out his hand and gave Martin's a hearty grip.
"Thank you so much, Martin," said Ruth. "The doctor knows the way to my house and he can take me."
"I'll come around for you to-morrow in time," said Martin as he bade the child good-bye.
But Ruth did not heed. For her there was no to-morrow, if it meant a return journey.
She skipped along by the side of the doctor till they came in sight of the little brown house. Then the child's desire out-ran the doctor's pace.
"Oh, would you mind if I went on?" she asked. "I can't stand it, if I don't."
The doctor loosed his clasp of her hand and she sped like an arrow toward the house. Her trembling fingers fumbled with the latch of the gate. She heard a sharp excited bark from Stray. It was a waste of time to knock at the front door, and she flew around to the kitchen bursting in half laughing, half crying.
"I've come back! I've come back!" she cried.
Stray precipitated himself upon her with joyful yelps of welcome. Billy stopped in his task of setting the table to rush forward calling:
"Aunt Hester, Aunt Hester, it's Ruth, it's Ruth."
Then from the next room, a figure came swiftly, arms extended. Ruth flung herself into them clasping Miss Hester's neck as if she would never let go.
"Oh, Aunt Hester, Aunt Hester," she sobbed, "nobody has kissed me since you did."
"My little girl, my little girl," murmured Miss Hester, kissing and kissing her. "I have missed you so much."
The sobs which Ruth had choked back broke forth then into a real fit of weeping. The love for which the little heart had been starving was here, and the child wept on Aunt Hester's shoulder gasping out:
"I can't help it, I can't help it, I am so glad."
At this moment, there was a thundering knock at the front door, and Billy ran to open to the doctor who cried out in his big voice:
"Where's that little runaway? Great Cesar, but I never saw a mouse scamper to its hole faster than she. Hello, Billy boy, where are the others?"
Aunt Hester with wet eyes and a tremulous smile around her mouth, came forward.
"Come in, Tom," she said. "How did you happen to bring back my little girl?"
"Let her tell you. I just stopped to say 'howdy,' then I'll be off. Come here, Ruth, I want to speak to you. Excuse secrets, Hetty."
He drew Ruth to one side. "Don't say anything about the paper till you see me again. I'll be back later in the evening."
Ruth nodded understandingly, and the doctor took his departure.
Billy busied himself in laying another place and bustled about like one accustomed to such service as setting tables and preparing supper. At intervals, he gave out pieces of news.
"Old Petty is awful sick; they say he can't live. Squire Field has got a new horse, a beauty, bay with one white stocking. Phil Reed's little dog is dead. Phil wanted to buy Stray but me and Aunt Hester couldn't part with him. There's a new teacher at our school; he's A No. 1, I tell you," and so on.
Meanwhile, Miss Hester and Ruth sat with arms around each other, Ruth answering the many questions and finding it hard to keep back the fact of the receipt.
"I say, you look like a howling swell in that hat," said the observant Billy. "Ain't you going to take it off and stay awhile?"
"Maybe I'll stay forever," returned Ruth with a happy laugh.
The simple little supper of porridge and milk was on the table when again a knock was heard at the door. Billy rushed to open and returned with a basket in his hand.
"Did you order these, Aunt Hester?" he asked.
"I ordered nothing," said Miss Hester in surprise. "It must be a mistake."
"There's a paper marked Miss Hester Brackenbury," said Billy. "I guess it is all right. The man's gone, anyhow. Let's open the basket."
"But Billy—"
"It's bought and paid for, the man said so, and he said it was for you."
Billy paused in the act of drawing forth packages.
Miss Hester flushed but did not forbid the unpacking of the basket. It held many dainties: a roasted chicken, a glass of jelly, fruit, crackers, cheese and a delicious cake.
"Let me see that paper," said Miss Hester.
Billy handed it to her. There was the name plain enough, and on the other side of the paper was written:
"In honor of Ruth's return."
"It's Tom Peaslee's doings," exclaimed Miss Hester. "There is no doing anything with him once he takes a notion."