"Who is she? What does it all mean?" asked the major, looking helplessly at Flora.
"It means," answered Flora, softly, "that this is truly Ruthie. Not your own Ruth, but her daughter and namesake—your grand-daughter Ruth."
"Is that so? Are you sure? Don't say so if you ain't," pleaded the old man. And then the thought flashed across Flora's mind that perhaps after all she was mistaken, and had only brought her old friend there to be disappointed.
"Ruth dear," she said, dropping into a chair, weakened by the very thought, "tell him—tell him all about yourself; your mother's name, and everything. Do, please, quick!"
Ruth told the history of her dead mother's life, as she had heard it from her own lips.
Eagerly Major Joe listened, and when she was through, he held out his arms to her, saying:
"You are my poor Ruth's daughter," and the tears prevented him from adding more. Ruth and Flora wiped their eyes in sympathy: Ruth rejoicing in the possession of a grandfather; Flora, that provision was thus made for Ruth.
This tearful trio was interrupted a moment later by the entrance of Jem, carrying her doll under one arm, and her beloved Pokey under the other.
"Why, Ruth Rudd, I'm extonished at you, hugging a old market man!" and Jem looked at her sister with unbounded disapproval.
"Hush Jem, you must not talk so," said Ruth. "This is our grandfather."