“Now, Harry, go and see if nurse and baby are ready to go out with you.  You must lose no time this beautiful morning.”

Ruth found Mr. Bellingham was not yet come down; so she sallied out for an additional half-hour’s ramble.  Flitting about through the village, trying to catch all the beautiful sunny peeps at the scenery between the cold stone houses, which threw the radiant distance into aerial perspective far away, she passed by the little shop; and, just issuing from it, came the nurse and baby, and little boy.  The baby sat in placid dignity in her nurse’s arms, with a face of queenly calm.  Her fresh, soft, peachy complexion was really tempting; and Ruth, who was always fond of children, went up to coo and to smile at the little thing, and after some “peep-boing,” she was about to snatch a kiss, when Harry, whose face had been reddening ever since the play began, lifted up his sturdy little right arm and hit Ruth a great blow on the face.

“Oh, for shame, sir!” said the nurse, snatching back his hand; “how dare you do that to the lady who is so kind as to speak to Sissy!”

“She’s not a lady!” said he indignantly.  “She’s a bad, naughty girl—­mamma; said so, she did; and she shan’t kiss our baby.”

The nurse reddened in her turn.  She knew what he must have heard; but it was awkward to bring it out, standing face to face with the elegant young lady.

“Children pick up such notions, ma’am,” said she at last, apologetically, to Ruth, who stood, white and still, with a new idea running through her mind.

“It’s no notion; it’s true, nurse; and I heard you say it yourself.  Go away, naughty woman!” said the boy, in infantile vehemence of passion to Ruth.  To the nurse’s infinite relief, Ruth turned away, humbly and meekly, with bent head, and slow, uncertain steps.  But as she turned, she saw the mild sad face of the deformed gentleman, who was sitting at the open window above the shop; he looked sadder and graver than ever; and his eyes met her glance with an expression of deep sorrow.  And so, condemned alike by youth and age, she stole with timid step into the house.  Mr. Bellingham was awaiting her in the sitting-room.  The glorious day restored all his buoyancy of spirits.  He talked gaily away, without pausing for a reply; while Ruth made tea, and tried to calm her heart, which was yet beating with the agitation of the new ideas she had received from the occurrence of the morning.  Luckily for her, the only answers required for some time were mono-syllables; but those few words were uttered in so depressed and mournful a tone, that at last they struck Mr. Bellingham with surprise and displeasure, as the condition of mind they unconsciously implied did not harmonise with his own.

“Ruth, what is the matter this morning?  You really are very provoking.  Yesterday, when everything was gloomy, and you might have been aware that I was out of spirits, I heard nothing but expressions of delight; to-day, when every creature under heaven is rejoicing, you look most deplorable and woe-begone.  You really should learn to have a little sympathy.”