She dressed with her usual scrupulous neatness, and after hesitating for a moment, put on her best Sunday serge dress.  It was a dark-blue serge, very neatly made.  She combed back her luxurious hair and tied it with a ribbon to match the dress.  She then ran downstairs.

“Why, Ruth?” said her grandmother, who was pouring some porridge into bowls, “what are you wearing that frock for?”

“I thought I would like to, granny.”

“Well, to be sure.  I trust to goodness you are not getting extravagant.  It will be doomsday before we can get you another like it.  You must remember that I saved up for it sixpence by sixpence, and it took me all my time and my best endeavors to get it.”

“I know it, granny; and when I wear it I feel that you were very kind to give it me.  A girl who wears a dress like this ought to be very, very good, oughtn’t she, granny?”

“Well, to be sure, little woman; and so you are.  There never was a better child.  Sit down now and sup your porridge.  It is extra good this morning, and there’s a drop of cream in that jug which will give it a flavor.”

Ruth sat down to the table and drew her bowl of porridge towards her.  The warm, nourishing food seemed to choke her; but, all the same, she ate it with resolution.”

“That’s right, dear,” said her grandmother. “’It’s putting a bit of color into your cheeks.  You are too white altogether, Ruth.  I hope, my dear, you are not working too hard.”

“Oh, that’s all right,” said Ruth, keeping back a groan.

“It’s a fine thing your getting into that school,” continued Mrs. Craven; “it gives you a chance.  Do you know, now, when I look at you and see the pretty little girl you are turning into, and observe your lady-like ways, which every one remarks on, I think of the time when your father was your age.”

“Yes, granny,” said Ruth, brightening up and looking earnestly at the old lady; “you never care to talk about father, but I should greatly like to hear about him this morning.”

“Well, child, I don’t talk of him because it hurts me too much.  He was the only child I ever had, and if I live to be a hundred I sha’n’t get over his death.  But he was like you—­very neat in his person, and very particular, and always keen over his books.  And do you know what he said to his father?  It was when he was fifteen years old, just for all the world about the age you are now.  I mind the time as well as if it was yesterday.  Her father and I were sitting by the hearth, and the boy came and stood near us.  Your grandfather looked up at him, and his blue eyes seemed to melt with love and pride, and he said: 

“’What will you be, my boy?  Will you let me teach you the business, and save up all the money I can for you to sell groceries on a bigger scale?  There’s many a small business like mine which, when built up, means a great big business and much wealth.  If you have a turn that way I could set you on your legs; I am certain of it.  I’d like to do it.  Would you like that best, or would you rather have a profession and be made a gentleman?’