“We are poor and need it, and this is our best time to make it.  I’d do most anything to earn a little, but not that;” and Ruth looked as proud as the young lady herself.

“Then we’ll say no more if you are too elegant to do what we don’t mind at all.  I’ll pay you for this stuff now, as I ordered it, and you needn’t bring me any more.  How much do I owe you?” asked the offended beauty, taking out her purse in a pet.

“Nothing.  I’m gad to oblige the ladies if I can, for they have been very kind to me.  Perhaps if you knew why I want to earn money, you’d understand me better.  Grandpa can’t last long, and I don’t want the town to bury him.  I’m working and saving so he can be buried decently, as he wants to be, not like a pauper.”

There was something in Ruth’s face and voice as she said this, standing there shabby, tired, and heavy-laden, yet honest, dutiful and patient for love’s sake, that touched the hearts of those who looked and listened; but she left no time for any answer, for with the last word she went on quickly, as if to hide the tears that dimmed her clear eyes and the quiver of her lips.

“Floss, how could you!” cried Miss Ray, and ran to take the sheaf of bulrushes from Ruth’s arms, followed by the rest, all ashamed and repentant now that a word had shown them the hard life going on beside their idle, care-free ones.

Captain John longed to follow, but walked into the house, growling to himself with a grim look,—­

“That girl has no more heart than a butterfly, and I’d like to see her squirm on a pin!  Poor Ruth! we’ll settle that matter, and bury old Ben like an admiral, hang me if we don’t!”

He was so busy talking the affair over with Aunt Mary that he did not see the girl flit by to wait for her boat on the beach, having steadily refused the money offered her, though she accepted the apologies in the kindest spirit.

The beach at this hour of the day was left to the nurses and maids who bathed and gossiped while the little people played in the sand or paddled in the sea.  Several were splashing about, and one German governess was scolding violently because while she was in the bath-house her charge, a little girl of six, had rashly ventured out in a flat-bottomed tub, as they called the small boats used by the gentlemen to reach the yachts anchored in deep water.

Ruth saw the child’s danger at a glance, for the tide was going out, carrying the frail cockleshell rapidly away, while the child risked an upset every moment by stretching her arms to the women on the shore and calling them to help her.

None dared to try, but all stood and wrung their hands, screaming like sea-gulls, till the girl, throwing off shoes and heavy skirt plunged in, calling cheerily, “Sit still!  I’ll come and get you, Milly!”

She could swim like a fish, but encumbered with her clothes and weary with an unusually hard day’s work, she soon found that she did not gain as rapidly as she expected upon the receding boat.  She did not lose courage, but a thrill of anxiety shot through her as she felt her breath grow short, her limbs heavy, and the tide sweep her farther and farther from the shore.