“I did not know before that Ruth’s mother was so very ill,” said Clemence.  “I must go and see her.”

She forgot it again, though, until about a week after, when the roll was called, and she marked again “absent” after Ruth’s name, as she had already done several times before.

“She can’t come any more,” said Maurice, “her mother’s worse, and they say she won’t live much longer.”

Clemence felt conscience-stricken at having forgotten her, and set out for the little one-roomed cabin directly after school was dismissed.

She found the direst poverty and wretchedness.  A dark-haired, strong-featured woman lay on a couch under a window, where there was scarcely a whole pane of glass, and which was stuffed full of rags to keep out the draught.  A stove, at which a frowsy neighbor was cooking some fat slices of pork, for the sick woman, filled the apartment with stifling heat and greasy odors.

“There’s the schoolma’am,” she heard in a loud whisper, as she paused for a moment upon the threshold.  The invalid tried to raise herself, and gave a look of dismay at the squalid scene.  Poor Mrs. Lynn had been a noted housekeeper, in her days of prosperity, and even at her greatest need, nobody could ever call her neglectful, either of her house or little Ruth, who, though always poorly clad, looked clean and wholesome.  Clemence read the whole at a glance.

“Do not apologise,” she interrupted, as the strange neighbor poured out a profusion of deprecatory exclamations, “I heard that Mrs. Lynn was ill, and came over to see if I could not assist in some way.  Don’t allow me to disturb you, madam.  How does she feel now?”

“Well, pretty poorly; ain’t it so, Mrs. Lynn?  Don’t you feel as though your time was short here below?  School-ma’am’s been askin.”

“Yes, I’m most gone,” was the feeble response, “and I should rejoice to be freed from my troubles, only for the child.  I don’t have faith to see just how it’s a goin to work for the best, for there will be none to comfort little Ruth after I’m gone.”

“Well, you must just trust in the Lord.  That’s what the minister told you, and he knows, for he’s had a good chance to try it, preachin’ all the time without half enough pay, and a donation now and then.  Any way, it will be all the same a hundred years hence.  There’s the vittals I’ve been gettin ready, and now this young woman’s come to sit by you, I’ll run home and look after Tommy.  Expect he’s in the cistern by this time.  If you want me, you can send Ruth, you know.  Good night.”

“Good night, and thank you, Mrs. Deane,” said the widow, and then turned again to Clemence, “They told me you was pretty, Miss,” she said, gazing with pleasure at the pure, sweet face.  “My Ruth just loved you from the first.  You don’t know how grateful I have felt towards you for being kind to the little fatherless creature.”

“Oh, don’t thank me, indeed,” said Clemence, “you would not, if you only knew how I have been reproaching myself for not coming before.  Tell me something I can do for you.”