Sally waited for some exclamation at the conclusion of her tale; but receiving none, she stepped softly to the bedside, and there lay Ruth, peaceful as death, with her baby on her breast.

“I thought I’d lost some of my gifts if I could not talk a body to sleep,” said Sally, in a satisfied and self-complacent tone.

Youth is strong and powerful, and makes a hard battle against sorrow.  So Ruth strove and strengthened, and her baby flourished accordingly; and before the little celandines were out on the hedge-banks, or the white violets had sent forth their fragrance from the border under the south wall of Miss Benson’s small garden, Ruth was able to carry her baby into that sheltered place on sunny days.

She often wished to thank Mr. Benson and his sister, but she did not know how to tell the deep gratitude she felt, and therefore she was silent.  But they understood her silence well.  One day, as she watched her sleeping child, she spoke to Miss Benson, with whom she happened to be alone.

“Do you know of any cottage where the people are clean, and where they would not mind taking me in?” asked she.

“Taking you in!  What do you mean?” said Miss Benson, dropping her knitting, in order to observe Ruth more closely.

“I mean,” said Ruth, “where I might lodge with my baby—­any very poor place would do, only it must be clean, or he might be ill.”

“And what in the world do you want to go and lodge in a cottage for?” said Miss Benson indignantly.

Ruth did not lift up her eyes, but she spoke with a firmness which showed that she had considered the subject.

“I think I could make dresses.  I know I did not learn as much as I might, but perhaps I might do for servants and people who are not particular.”

“Servants are as particular as any one,” said Miss Benson, glad to lay hold of the first objection that she could.

“Well! somebody who would be patient with me,” said Ruth.

“Nobody is patient over an ill-fitting gown,” put in Miss Benson.  “There’s the stuff spoilt, and what not!”

“Perhaps I could find plain work to do,” said Ruth, very meekly.  “That I can do very well; mamma taught me, and I liked to learn from her.  If you would be so good, Miss Benson, you might tell people I could do plain work very neatly, and punctually, and cheaply.”

“You’d get sixpence a day, perhaps,” said Miss Benson “and who would take care of baby, I should like to know?  Prettily he’d be neglected, would not he?  Why, he’d have the croup and the typhus fever in no time, and be burnt to ashes after.”

“I have thought of all.  Look how he sleeps!  Hush, darling;” for just at this point he began to cry, and to show his determination to be awake, as if in contradiction to his mother’s words.  Ruth took him up, and carried him about the room while she went on speaking.

“Yes, just now I know he will not sleep; but very often he will, and in the night he always does.”