Ruth, smiling quietly to herself, remembered how the thin, sallow, quick spoken lady looked when she said all this. Miss Pettis’s eyes were black and snapping; her nose was a beak; she bit off threads as though her temper was biting, too. But Ruth knew better. A kinder-hearted mortal never lived than the little old seamstress.
Now the visitor ran across the garden—neatly bedded and with graveled paths in which the tiniest weed dared not show its head—and reached the kitchen porch. Miss Pettis was always an early riser, and the smoke of her chimney was now only a faint blue column rising into the clear air.
Yes! there was a rattle of dishes in the kitchen. Ruth tiptoed up the steps. Then she—to her amazement—heard somebody groan. The sound was repeated, and then the seamstress’s voice murmured:
“Oh, dear, oh, dear! Oh, dear, oh, dear! whatever shall I do——”
Ruth, who had intended opening the door softly and announcing that she had come to breakfast, forgot all about the little surprise she was bent on giving Miss Pettis. Now she peered fearfully in at the nearest window.
Miss Pettis was just sitting down in her rocker, and she rocked to and fro, holding one hand with the other, continuing to groan.
“Oh, dear, me!” cried Ruth, bursting in at the door. “What in the world is the matter, my dear?”
“It’s that dratted felon—— Why, Ruthie Fielding! Did you drop from the sky, or pop up out o’ the ground? I never!”
The dressmaker got up quickly, but struck her hand against the chair-arm. Instantly she fell back with a scream, and Ruth feared she had fainted. A felon is a terribly painful thing!
Ruth ran for a glass of water, but before she could sprinkle any of it on Miss Pettis’ pale face the lady’s eyes opened and she exclaimed: