Little
Leonard cooed to the flowers, and stretched after their bright
colours; and Ruth laid him on the dry turf, and pelted him with
the gay petals. He chinked and crowed with laughing delight, and
clutched at her cap, and pulled it off. Her short rich curls were
golden-brown in the slanting sun-light, and by their very
shortness made her more childlike. She hardly seemed as if she
could be the mother of the noble babe over whom she knelt, now
snatching kisses, now matching his cheek with rose-leaves. All at
once, the bells of the old church struck the hour, and far away,
high up in the air, began slowly to play the old tune of "Life,
let us cherish;" they had played it for years--for the life of
man--and it always sounded fresh, and strange, and aerial. Ruth
was still in a moment, she knew not why; and the tears came into
her eyes as she listened. When it was ended, she kissed her baby,
and bade God bless him.
Just then Sally came out, dressed for the evening, with a
leisurely look about her. She had done her work, and she and Ruth
were to drink tea together in the exquisitely clean kitchen; but
while the kettle was boiling, she came out to enjoy the flowers.
She gathered a piece of southern-wood, and stuffed it up her
nose, by way of smelling it.
"Whatten you call this in your country?" asked she.
"Old-man," replied Ruth.
"We call it here lad's-love. It and peppermint drops always
reminds me of going to church in the country.
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