“Ah, deary!” he said, “I have been missing you all day.  And how did you like your school?  And how is everything?”

“I will tell you after supper, grandfather.  I must go and help granny now.”

“That’s right; that’s a good girl.  Oh! far be it from me to be impatient; I wouldn’t be for all the world.  Your granny has missed you too to-day.”

Ruth smiled at him and went into the kitchen.  There were eager voices and sounds of people hurrying about, and then a fragrant smell of fried sausages.  A moment later Ruth appeared, holding a brightly trimmed lamp in her hand; she laid it on a little centre-table, drew down the blinds, pulled the red curtains across the windows, poked up the fire, and then proceeded to lay the cloth for supper.  Her pile of books, which she had brought in her satchel, lay on a chair.

“I can have a look at your books while I am waiting, can’t I, little woman?” said the old man.

Ruth brought him over the pack of books somewhat unwillingly.  He gave a sigh of contentment, drew the lamp a little nearer, and was lost for the time being.

“Now, child,” said old Mrs. Craven, “you heat that plate by the fire.  Have you got the pepper and salt handy?  Sausages ain’t worth touching unless you eat them piping hot.  Your grandfather wants his beer.  Dear, dear!  What a worry that is!  I never knew that the cask was empty.  What is to be done?”

“I can go round to the shop and bring in a quart,” said Ruth.

“But you—­a member of the Shirley School!  No, you mustn’t.  I’ll do it.”

“Nonsense, granny!  I’ll leave school to-morrow if you don’t let me work for you just the same as ever.”

Mrs. Craven sank into her chair.

“You are a good child,” she said.  “All day I have been so fretting that we were taking you out of your station; and that is a sad mistake—­sad and terrible.  But you are a good child.  Yes, go for it, dear; it won’t do you any harm.”

Ruth wrapped an old shawl round her head, picked up a jug, and went off to the nearest public-house.  They were accustomed to see her there, for old Mr. Craven more often than not had his little cask of beer empty.  She went to a side entrance, where a woman she knew served her with what she required.

“There, Ruth Craven,” she said—­“there it is.  But, all the same, I’m surprised to see you here to-night.”

“But why so?” asked Ruth.

“Isn’t it true that you are one of the Shirley scholars now?”

“I am; I joined the school to-day.”

“And yet you come to fetch beer for your old grandfather!”

“I do,” said Ruth, with spirit.  “And I shall fetch it for him as long as he wants it.  Thank you very much.”

She took the jug and walked carefully back to the cottage.

“She’s the handsomest, most spirited, best little thing I ever met,” thought the landlady of the “Lion,” and she began to consider in her own mind if one of her men could not call round in the morning and leave the necessary beer at the Cravens’.