“I should say that was devotion,” said Ruth much touched.  “Charlotte hates sewing, and that handkerchief must have been awfully fussy to do.  But isn’t that a nice name she’s given you, Aunt Jerry?  I like that and think I shall use it.”

The next package was a small book from Marie, filled with little water-color sketches of Glenloch.  Ruth and Mrs. Jerry took such a long time over it that Uncle Jerry got quite impatient, and threatened to draw the next one himself if Ruth didn’t hurry.

This time she brought out a rolled sheet of paper, and opening it found a snapshot of Betty’s merry face stuck in the centre, and all around her a circle of kitten pictures.  At the bottom she had written: 

“Dear Ruth: 

“Once a lady told me that nothing tasted so good to her on shipboard as some home-made cookies some one had given her, so I thought I’d try it for you.  I packed them in a new tin pail with a tight cover, and I hope they’ll keep crisp until you can eat them.

“Arthur promised to leave them in your stateroom, so if you don’t find them you’ll know it’s his fault.

“I shall go in often and pet Fuzzy so that he won’t miss you too much.

“Yours with love and kisses,

“Betty.”

“Isn’t that Betty all over?” said Mrs. Jerry with a laugh.  “So practical and helpful and anxious to comfort some one, if it’s only a kitten.”

“That accounts for the package down below that I didn’t bring up,” said Uncle Jerry.  “I didn’t realize it belonged to Ruth.”

“Those cookies will taste good,” laughed Ruth.  “She couldn’t have sent anything more—­more Bettyesque.”

The next thing was carefully packed and required much unwrapping, but as the last paper was taken off Ruth squealed with delight over a little traveling clock in a brown leather case.  Enclosed with it were five cards each bearing a message.  The first one that she read said in a small, even hand: 

“This clock is to tick away the hours until you come back to us.  Please hurry so that it won’t get too tired.—­Phil.”

Then a boyish-looking writing announced, “’Time and tide wait for no man,’ but Glenloch and the Candle Club will wait for the nicest girl that ever came out of the West.—­Jack.”

“Dear me!  Am I blushing, Aunt Jerry?” asked Ruth quite overpowered by this last tribute.  “This next is Frank’s; I know his funny, scrawly writing.”

“‘Backward, turn backward, oh, Time in thy flight.’  Give us our Ruth again just for to-night.”

“Isn’t that neat and sentimental?  Now I shall go in and play and sing ‘My Bonnie lies over the Ocean.’  Aren’t you glad you’re out of ear-shot?—­Frank.”

Card number four was enlivened by a funny drawing of a boy with his fists in his eyes standing in a pool of tears, and under it the inscription:  “Bert; his feelings to a T.”

The last card said in writing so small that Ruth could hardly read it: