When she awoke it was quite dark in the room except for the light from the open fire. She could hear in the sitting-room a subdued murmur of voices, and now and then Irving's giggle, promptly suppressed by the stern Molly. As she lay there in drowsy comfort Melina stole into the room and coming softly to the bed peered sharply at her.

"Hullo," said Charlotte with a suddeness that made Melina jump.

"What time is it, and how is every one?"

"Goodness, I thought you was asleep. They're all right. I've just made your ma go to bed, though she declares she never felt better in her life. Stanley's sitting up on the sofa with the pillows ail around him, feeling like a little king, and Molly's proud as Punch to be nurse. Now what would you like for your supper?"

"My! Is it supper-time? Oh, bring me anything good. You know what I like."

"There's a girl in the kitchen--the one that's staying with Mrs.

Hamilton. She wanted I should come up to see how you are, and she says she'll come to see you just as soon as you want her."

"Oh, ask her to come now, Melina, please. I feel quite well enough to see her."

Melina began to protest, but Charlotte's eagerness conquered, and she went grumbling down-stairs to call Ruth.

"Oh, Charlotte, you're a dear to let me come and tell you how mean I feel. I don't believe I should have slept to-night if I couldn't 'fess up' to somebody."

Charlotte looked at her in astonishment and Ruth went on, "You see I know all about what you did with the money, for Melina sat with me coming out on the train."

"Melina told you!" said Charlotte, hardly able to believe her own ears.

"Yes, I remembered her face and said something to her. She was so full of joy over having sent the bed off to her nephew that before she knew it she had told me all about him, and about the five dollars, too."

"She probably won't tell anything again in a hundred years,"

murmured Charlotte, looking so embarra.s.sed and uncomfortable that Ruth couldn't help seeing it.

"You're a funny girl to be so ashamed of your good deeds. But, honestly, Charlotte, I'll never tell if you don't want me to. I'm simply bowed down with shame myself to think I was so mean and hateful this morning."

"Oh, that's ail right, Ruth," said Charlotte warmly, "and I'm not going to be horrid about Christmas any more. I think this will be the happiest one I've ever had."

CHAPTER X

CHRISTMAS PRESENTS

The day before Christmas Ruth awoke with an ache in her heart, and an inexpressible longing for mother and father. It was even worse, she thought, than the Christmas before when grief for her mother was so keenly new. Then, she and her father had been so occupied making the hard day easier for each other that it had pa.s.sed almost pleasantly. But now, with her best chum so far away, the longing for her mother increased tenfold, and Ruth found herself wishing that she could go to sleep again, and not wake until the holidays were over.

It was hard to look cheerful at the breakfast-table, and every one missed the gay laugh and chatter which usually made the meal so pleasant.

"You're not ill, child, are you?" asked Mr. Hamilton as he rose from the table.

"Oh, no," answered Ruth quickly, feeling that it would be rank ingrat.i.tude to look melancholy after ail their kindness to her.

"That's right," he said with a farewell pat. "We can't have you looking sober. You know I depend on you to give me a merry Christmas."

"I'll try," answered Ruth dutifully, but she felt that it would be an impossibility for her to add to any one's happiness.

"Perhaps you will help me a little, Ruth," said Mrs. Hamilton as they finished breakfast. "I'm going to pack and deliver some Christmas baskets this morning, and I really need some a.s.sistance in order to get through with it."

"I'd love to. Mother and I always did that, and I used to think it almost the nicest part of Christmas. Mayn't I buy something to put in the baskets, or have you all that you can use?"

"It would be very nice if you would, for I've just heard of a family this morning where the children haven't the necessary winter clothing. There are four children, the oldest about seven and the youngest a baby, and I'm sure you will find a great many things they need at the little store near the post-office. If you feel like taking that off my mind I shall be truly grateful."

"Indeed I do," and Ruth, looking more cheerful already, ran off to put on her coat and gay little hat. It is undeniable that doing for others is the best cure for an ache in one's own heart, and Ruth felt almost happy for the next half hour as she bought little suits of underwear, warm petticoats and stockings, and red mittens enough for the entire family. She felt quite like Santa Claus as she walked down the street, for she had made a last purchase of toys and candy, and enticing-looking bundles stuck out in all directions.

Those who pa.s.sed couldn't help smiling at the pretty girl who, for the time, at least, was the embodiment of Christmas cheer.

"There, that was fun," she said with a sigh of satisfaction as she deposited her bundles on the table. "Now, let me help you pack."

For the remainder of the morning there was no time to be unhappy, for by the time the baskets were packed the sleigh was at the door.

Mrs. Hamilton's errands took them to the outskirts of the town, where great fields of snow spread their dazzling whiteness, and the cool, crisp air blew the cobwebs from one's brain. Ruth learned a helpful lesson in the art of giving, for Mrs. Hamilton was as beautifully simple and friendly with the poor women she visited as with her wealthier friends, and it was a pleasure to see the good comradeship with which she entered into their joys and sorrows.

"This is my last visit for the morning," said Mrs. Hamilton, as the sleigh drew up before a neat little house. "I have just a little Christmas remembrance to leave here, and I think you may find this the most attractive place of all."

Ruth followed Mrs. Hamilton into the house with real curiosity, only to be met by a cheerful, rosy-cheeked woman who looked clean and wholesome, though not especially interesting. She was putting an extra polish on her little parlor, which already looked spotless, and singing softly as she did so. As the song stopped Ruth realized that the words were French and she began to feel curious immediately.

"Ah, Mrs. Hamilton, it ees a great pleasure to see you," the woman said as Mrs. Hamilton shook hands with her. "Marie will be so happy.

She has so wearied for you."

Mrs. Hamilton and Ruth followed the good woman into the little room, which was dining-room and sitting-room combined, and where on a couch lay a girl a year or two older than Ruth. The great dark eyes, looking out of the palest face Ruth had ever seen, lighted up with joy, and a flashing smile disclosed faultless teeth as the girl said with an accent even more marked than Mrs. Perrier's, "It ees my angel of mercy come again. I am so glad, so glad."

"I thought you might get tired of such an old angel, Marie," laughed Mrs. Hamilton, "so I've brought a younger one along with me. Come here, Ruth, and let me make you acquainted with my friend, Marie Borel, who has left her Swiss mountains, and has come to America to do great things."

"Such great things I have done!" said Marie, reproachfully. "The first thing ees to get seeck so that my good aunt should have to take care of me. I do not like to make so much trouble."

"It is nothing," said her aunt affectionately as she patted the thin hand. "The uncle and I, we care only for your pain and trouble. It ees a pleasure to have you with us."

Marie looked at her with such loving grat.i.tude in her soft eyes that her aunt retreated to the kitchen where Mrs. Hamilton followed her on the pretext of obtaining a promised recipe.

Left to themselves the girls chatted in friendliest fashion, and Ruth soon learned at least the outlines of Marie's story. Her father had been pastor in a quaint little town of French Switzerland, and there Marie had been born and had lived until death had taken both father and mother within a year. Then, heart-broken over her loss, she had accepted with grat.i.tude an invitation from her aunt, who had gone to America with her husband when Marie was a little girl.

It was a trial of Ruth's self-control when Marie told so simply and pathetically of the death of her mother and father, for her own loss seemed so terribly near. "I've lost my mother, too, Marie,"

she said softly, "and my father has gone so far away that sometimes I feel quite alone."

"Ah, then you can understand how hard it is to be brave when one has so great a sorrow."

"Indeed I can. And I'm not always brave. But tell me what happened to you after you got here."

"Something, my grief, perhaps, or the voyage, made me so seeck.

But it ees much better already, for now I can read a little and can also sew." As she spoke Marie took from a little bag lying by her side a piece of embroidery which to Ruth's eyes seemed a marvel of neatness and beauty.

"Oh, how lovely!" she said admiringly. "How can you do such fine even work?"

"We are taught to make such fine st.i.tches when we are very little girls," answered Marie much gratified at the praise. "And I also make the pillow lace. Have you ever seen that made?"

Ruth looked with greatest interest at the plump cushion with its rows of pins, and watched intently while the thin hands deftly tossed the bobbins around in most mysterious fashion.