The old man’s large clear blue eyes were fixed on the child.

“I had a curious feeling this morning,” he said; “but I know now it was only a dream.  I thought I was back in the shop again.  I was up, my dear; I had taken a bit of a walk, and I came in and sat down by the fire.  It came over me all of a sudden how lazy I was, and how wrong to neglect the shop and not give your grandmother a bit of help with the customers; and so strong was the notion over me that I unlocked the old bureau and took out the account-books.  I said to myself I can at least square everything up for her, and that will help her as much as anything.  She was always a rare one to see a good balance at the end of the week.  If she had a good balance and all things nicely squared up, we’d have a nice little joint for Sunday; and she’d put on her little bonnet and best mantle, and we’d go for a walk in the country arm-in-arm, just like the Darby and Joan we were, Ruthie, and which we are.  But if the balance didn’t come out on the right side she’d stay at home.  She’d never cry or despair; that wasn’t her way, bless you!  She’d say, ’We must think of some way of saving, John, or we must do a bit more selling of the stock.’  She was a rare one to contrive.”

Ruth had heard this story of her grandmother many and many a time before, but her grandfather’s look frightened her.  She went up to him and closed the big account-book.

“You have balanced things a long time ago,” she said.  “Don’t fret now.  May I put the account-book aside?”

“You may, darling; you may.  But the accounts ain’t balanced, Ruthie; we are on the wrong side of the ledger, my love—­on the wrong side of the ledger.”

Ruth said nothing more.  She put the book back into the drawer and locked it.  Then she sat down by her grandfather’s side.

“Would you rather I got you your dinner,” she said, “or would you rather I talked to you for a little?”

“I’d a sight rather my little Ruth sat near me and let me place my hand on her hair.  Your hair is jet-black, Ruthie—­almost blue-black.  So was your father’s hair, my child.  He was a very handsome boy.  I never looked for it that he would die in the foreign parts and leave you to your grandmother and me.  But you have been a rare blessing to us—­a rare blessing.”

“Sometimes I think,” said Ruth slowly, “that I have been a great care.  It must have cost you a great deal to feed and clothe me.”

“No, no, child; far from that.  You were always the bit of good luck—­on the right side of the balance—­always, always.”

Ruth took the old man’s hand and pressed it between both her own.  Presently she rubbed her cheeks softly against it.

“Grandfather,” she said, “are you all right now—­quite wide awake, I mean?  Has the dream about the shop and the wrong accounts passed out of your head?”

“Why, yes, darling; of course it was only a dream.”