nose. "Most as forlorn as some one they don't invite to family reunions any more."
"Why, Ruth," I remonstrated. "We thought—you see"
"Never mind," she interrupted lightly. "I wasn't serious. I'll run upstairs now, and freshen up a bit."
"Come, Becky," ordered Oliver, "get down."
I saw Becky's arm tighten around Ruth's neck again. She's an unaccountable child.
Ruth said quietly, "Let her come upstairs with me, if she wants. I haven't had a welcome like this since the days of poor little Dandy."
An hour later Edith and I found Ruth sitting in a rocking-chair in the room that used to be hers years ago when she was a young girl. She was holding Becky.
"What in the world are you doing?" asked Edith.
"I never held a sleeping child before, and I'm discovering," replied Ruth, softly so as not to disturb Becky. "Aren't the little things limp?"
"Well, put her down now, do," said practical Edith. "We want you downstairs. Luncheon is nearly ready."
"I can't yet," said Ruth. "Every time I start to leave her she cries, and won't let me. Isn't it odd of the little creature? You two go on down. I'll be with you as soon as I can."
Later that afternoon we continued the discussion that Ruth had interrupted. Oliver didn't seem to be any more reconciled to the arrangement than before.
