Ruth Read Online Free Page B

raising her head, gave a proud look round, as if in
appeal to her companions.
    "Where is the skirt of Lady Farnham's dress? The flounces not put on!
I am surprised. May I ask to whom this work was entrusted yesterday?"
inquired Mrs Mason, fixing her eyes on Ruth.
    "I was to have done it, but I made a mistake, and had to undo it. I
am very sorry."
    "I might have guessed, certainly. There is little difficulty, to be
sure, in discovering, when work has been neglected or spoilt, into
whose hands it has fallen."
    Such were the speeches which fell to Ruth's share on this day of all
days, when she was least fitted to bear them with equanimity.
    In the afternoon it was necessary for Mrs Mason to go a few miles
into the country. She left injunctions, and orders, and directions,
and prohibitions without end; but at last she was gone, and in the
relief of her absence, Ruth laid her arms on the table, and, burying
her head, began to cry aloud, with weak, unchecked sobs.
    "Don't cry, Miss Hilton,"—"Ruthie, never mind the old dragon,"—"How
will you bear on for five years, if you don't spirit yourself up
not to care a straw for what she says?"—were some of the modes of
comfort and sympathy administered by the young workwomen.
    Jenny, with a wiser insight into the grievance and its remedy, said:
    "Suppose Ruth goes out instead of you, Fanny Barton, to do the
errands. The fresh air will do her good; and you know you dislike the
cold east winds, while Ruth says she enjoys frost and snow, and all
kinds of shivery weather."
    Fanny Barton was a great sleepy-looking girl, huddling over the
fire. No one so willing as she to relinquish the walk on this bleak
afternoon, when the east wind blew keenly down the street, drying up
the very snow itself. There was no temptation to come abroad, for
those who were not absolutely obliged to leave their warm rooms;
indeed, the dusk hour showed that it was the usual tea-time for the
humble inhabitants of that part of the town through which Ruth had to
pass on her shopping expedition. As she came to the high ground just
above the river, where the street sloped rapidly down to the bridge,
she saw the flat country beyond all covered with snow, making the
black dome of the cloud-laden sky appear yet blacker; as if the
winter's night had never fairly gone away, but had hovered on the
edge of the world all through the short bleak day. Down by the bridge
(where there was a little shelving bank, used as a landing-place for
any pleasure-boats that could float on that shallow stream) some
children were playing, and defying the cold; one of them had got a
large washing-tub, and with the use of a broken oar kept steering and
pushing himself hither and thither in the little creek, much to the
admiration of his companions, who stood gravely looking on, immovable
in their attentive observation of the hero, although their faces were
blue with cold, and their hands crammed deep into their pockets with
some faint hope of finding warmth there. Perhaps they feared that, if
they unpacked themselves from their lumpy attitudes and began to move
about, the cruel wind would find its way into every cranny of their
tattered dress. They were all huddled up, and still; with eyes
intent on the embryo sailor. At last, one little man, envious of the
reputation that his playfellow was acquiring by his daring, called
out:
    "I'll set thee a craddy, Tom! Thou dar'n't go over yon black line in
the water, out into the real river."
    Of course the challenge was not to be refused, and Tom paddled away
towards the dark line, beyond which the river swept with smooth,
steady current. Ruth (a child in years herself) stood at the top of
the declivity watching the adventurer, but as unconscious of any
danger as the group of children below. At their playfellow's success,
they broke through the calm gravity of observation into boisterous
marks of applause, clapping their hands, and stamping their impatient
little feet, and shouting, "Well done, Tom; thou