“You might ha’ letten me do the jelly; I’se warrant I could ha’ pleased Ruth as well as you.  If I had but known he was coming, I’d ha’ slipped round the corner and bought ye a neck-ribbon, or summut to lighten ye up.  I’se loth he should think I’m living with Dissenters, that don’t know how to keep themselves trig and smart.”

“Never mind, Sally; he never thought of me.  What he came for, was to see Ruth; and, as you say, she’s always neat and dainty.”

“Well!  I reckon it cannot be helped now; but, if I buy ye a ribbon, will you promise to wear it when Church folks come? for I cannot abide the way they have of scoffing at the Dissenters about their dress.”

“Very well! we’ll make that bargain,” said Miss Benson; “and now, Ruth, I’ll go and fetch you a cup of warm jelly.”

“Oh! indeed, Aunt Faith,” said Ruth, “I am very sorry to balk you; but if you’re going to treat me as an invalid, I am afraid I shall rebel.”

But when she found that Aunt Faith’s heart was set upon it, she submitted very graciously:  only dimpling up a little, as she found that she must consent to lie on the sofa, and be fed, when, in truth, she felt full of health, with a luxurious sensation of languor stealing over her now and then, just enough to make it very pleasant to think of the salt breezes, and the sea beauty which awaited her at Abermouth.

Mr. Davis called in the afternoon, and his visit was also to Ruth.  Mr. and Miss Benson were sitting with her in the parlour, and watching her with contented love, as she employed herself in household sewing, and hopefully spoke about the Abermouth plan.

“Well! so you had our worthy rector here to-day; I am come on something of the same kind of errand; only I shall spare you the reading of my letter, which, I’ll answer for it, he did not.  Please to take notice,” said he, putting down a sealed letter, “that I have delivered you a vote of thanks from my medical brothers; and open and read it at your leisure; only not just now, for I want to have a little talk with you on my own behoof.  I want to ask you a favour, Mrs. Denbigh.”

“A favour!” exclaimed Ruth; “what can I do for you?  I think I may say I will do it, without hearing what it is.”

“Then you’re a very imprudent woman,” replied he; “however, I’ll take you at your word.  I want you to give me your boy.”

“Leonard?”

“Ay! there it is, you see, Mr. Benson.  One minute she is as ready as can be, and the next she looks at me as if I was an ogre!”

“Perhaps we don’t understand what you mean,” said Mr. Benson.

“The thing is this.  You know I’ve no children; and I can’t say I’ve ever fretted over it much; but my wife has; and whether it is that she has infected me, or that I grieve over my good practice going to a stranger, when I ought to have had a son to take it after me, I don’t know; but, of late, I’ve got to look with covetous eyes on all healthy boys, and at last I’ve settled down my wishes on this Leonard of yours, Mrs. Denbigh.”