But it was a little hard to begin. When he told her, however, that he was going to Cheslow, too—indeed, that that was his home—it was easier by far.
"I am Doctor Davison, my dear," he said. "If you are going to live in Cheslow you will hear all about Doctor Davison, and you would better know him at first-hand, to avoid mistakes," and his eyes twinkled more than ever, though his stern mouth never relaxed.
"I expect that my new home is some little way outside of Cheslow," Ruth said, timidly. "They call it the Red Mill."
The humorous light faded out of the dark, bright eyes of the gentleman. Yet even then his countenance did not impress her as being unkindly.
"Jabez Potter's mill," he said, thoughtfully.
"Yes, sir. That is my uncle's name."
"Your uncle?"
"My great uncle, to be exact," said Ruth. "He was mother's uncle."
"Then you," he said, speaking even more gently than before, "are little Mary Potter's daughter?"
"Mother was Mary Potter before she married papa," said Ruth, more easily now. "She died four years ago."