Part 41

“Well, what of it?”

“Why--why--you aren't using it, you know, and I thought perhaps you'd be willing to give it to us, so that we can go to housekeeping as soon as we're married.”

“It was your grandmother's,” Aunt Jane replied after long thought, “and, as you say, I ain't usin' it. I don't know but what you might as well have it as anybody else. I lay out to buy me a new haircloth parlour suit with that two hundred dollars of James's--he give the minister the hull four dollars over and above that--and--yes, you can have it,” she concluded.

Ruth kissed her, with real feeling. “Thank you so much, Aunty. It will be lovely to have something that was my grandmother's.”

When she went back to Winfield, he was absorbed in a calculation he was making on the back of an envelope.

“You're not to use your eyes,” she said warningly, “and, oh Carl! It was my grandmother's and she's given us every bit of it, and you're to stay to supper!”

“Must be in a fine humour,” he observed. “I'm ever so glad. Come here, darling, you don't know how I've missed you.”

“I've been earning furniture,” she said, settling down beside him. “People earn what they get from Aunty--I won't say that, though, because it's mean.”

“Tell me about this remarkable furniture. What is it, and how much of it is destined to glorify our humble cottage?”

“It's all ours,” she returned serenely, “but I don't know just how much there is. I didn't look at it closely, you know, because I never expected to have any of it. Let's see--there's a heavy dresser, and a large, round table, with claw feet--that's our dining-table, and there's a bed, just like those in the windows in town, when it's done over, and there's a big old-fashioned sofa, and a spinning-wheel--”

“Are you going to spin?”

“Hush, don't interrupt. There are five chairs--dining-room chairs, and two small tables, and a card table with a leaf that you can stand up against the wall, and two lovely rockers, and I don't know what else.”

“That's a fairly complete inventory, considering that you 'didn't look at it closely.' What a little humbug you are!”

“You like humbugs, don't you?”

“Some, not all.”

There was a long silence, and then Ruth moved away from him. “Tell me about everything,” she said. “Think of all the years I haven't known you!”

“There's nothing to tell, dear. Are you going to conduct an excavation into my 'past?'”

“Indeed, I'm not! The present is enough for me, and I'll attend to your future myself.”

“There's not much to be ashamed of, Ruth,” he said, soberly. “I've always had the woman I should marry in my mind--'the not impossible she,' and my ideal has kept me out of many a pitfall I wanted to go to her with clean hands and a clean heart, and I have. I'm not a saint, but I'm as clean as I could be, and live in the world at all.”

Ruth put her hand on his. “Tell me about your mother.”

A shadow crossed his face and he waited a moment before speaking. “My mother died when I was born,” he said with an effort. “I can't tell you about her, Ruth, she--she--wasn't a very good woman.”

“Forgive me, dear,” she answered with quick sympathy, “I don't want to know!”

“I didn't know about it until a few years ago,” he continued, “when some kindly disposed relatives of father's gave me full particulars. They're dead now, and I'm glad of it. She--she--drank.”

“Don't, Carl!” she cried, “I don't want to know!”

“You're a sweet girl, Ruth,” he said, tenderly, touching her hand to his lips. “Father died when I was ten or twelve years old and I can't remember him very well, though I have one picture, taken a little while before he was married. He was a moody, silent man, who hardly ever spoke to any one. I know now that he was broken-hearted. I can't remember even the tones of his voice, but only one or two little peculiarities. He couldn't bear the smell of lavender and the sight of any shade of purple actually made him suffer. It was very strange.

“I've picked up what education I have,” he went on. “I have nothing to give you, Ruth, but these--” he held out his hands--“and my heart.”

“That's all I want, dearest--don't tell me any more!”

A bell rang cheerily, and, when they went in, Aunt Jane welcomed him with apparent cordiality, though a close observer might have detected a tinge of suspicion. She liked the ring on Ruth's finger, which she noticed for the first time. “It's real pretty, ain't it, James?” she asked.