A smile overspread Miss Felicia’s face.  “Uncle Peter, is it?  And I suppose you will be calling me Aunt Felicia next?”

Jack turned his eyes:  “That was just what I was trying to screw up my courage to do.  Please let me, won’t you?” Again Miss Felicia lifted her eyebrows, but she did not say she would.

“And Ruth—­what do you intend to call that young lady?  Of course, without her permission, as that seems to be the fashion.”  And the old lady’s eyes danced in restrained merriment.

The sufferer’s face became suddenly grave; for an instant he did not answer, then he said slowly: 

“But what can I call her except Miss Ruth?”

Miss Felicia laughed.  Nothing was so delicious as a love affair which she could see into.  This boy’s heart was an open book.  Besides, this kind of talk would take his mind from his miseries.

“Oh, but I am not so sure of that,” she rejoined, in an encouraging tone.

A light broke out in Jack’s eyes:  “You mean that she would let me call her—­call her Ruth?”

“I don’t mean anything of the kind, you foolish fellow.  You have got to ask her yourself; but there’s no telling what she would not do for you now, she’s so grateful to you for saving her father’s life.”

“But I did not,” he exclaimed, an expression as of acute pain crossing his brows.  “I only helped him along.  But she must not be grateful.  I don’t like the word.  Gratitude hasn’t got anything to do with—­” he did not finish the sentence.

“But you did save his life, and you know it, and I just love you for it,” she insisted, ignoring his criticism as she again smoothed his hand.  “You did a fine, noble act, and I am proud of you and I came to tell you so.”  Then she added suddenly:  “You received my message last night, didn’t you?  Now, don’t tell me that that good-for-nothing Peter forgot it.”

“No, he gave it to me, and it was so kind of you.”

“Well, then I forgive him.  And now,” here she made a little salaam with both her hands—­“now you have Ruth’s message.”

“I have what?” he asked in astonishment.

“Ruth’s message.”  She still kept her face straight although her lips quivered with merriment.

Jack tried to lift his head:  “What is her message?” he asked with expectant eyes—­perhaps she had sent him a letter!

Miss Felicia tapped her bosom with her forefinger.

“Me!” she cried, “I am her message.  She was so worried last night when she found out how ill you were that I promised her to come and comfort you; that is why it is me.  And now, don’t you think you ought to get down on your knees and thank her?  Why, you don’t seem a bit pleased!”

“And she sent you to me—­because—­because—­she was grateful that I saved her father’s life?” he asked in a bewildered tone.

“Of course—­why shouldn’t she be; is there anything else you can give her she would value as much as her father’s life, you conceited young Jackanapes?”