If Mercy was pleased by this statement, she would not show it.
"I studied to enter High," she said, after a little silence. "But what's the use? I'll never go to school again. Reading books isn't any fun. Just studying, and studying, and studying doesn't get you anywhere."
"Why, I should think that would be nice," Ruth declared. "You've got so much chance to study. You see, you don't have to work around the house, or outside, and so you have all your time to devote to study. I should like that."
"Yah!" snarled Mercy, in her most unpleasant way. "That's what you say. I wish you were here to try it, and I could be out to the Red Mill." Then she paid more softly: "I'd like to see that mill and the river—and all the things you tell about."
"You wait!" cried Ruth. "I'll ask Uncle Jabez and Aunt Alviry. Maybe we can fix it so you could come out and see me. Wouldn't that be fine?"
"Yah!" snarled the cripple again. "I'll never get that far away from this old chair."
"Perhaps not; but you might bring the chair with you," returned Ruth, unshaken. "Wait till vacation. I'll not give up the idea until I've seen if it can't be arranged."
That the thought pleased Mercy, the cripple could not deny. Her eyes shone and a warmth of unusual color appeared in her thin cheeks. Her mother came in with a tray of cakes and lemonade, and Mercy became quite pleasant as she did the honors. Having already eaten her fill at the doctor's, Ruth found it a little difficult to do justice to this collation; but she would not hurt Mercy's feelings by refusing.
The hour passed in more pleasant converse. The cripple's mind was evidently coaxed from its wrong and unhappy thoughts. When Ruth rose to leave, promising to come again as soon as she could get into town, Mercy was plainly softened.
"You just hate to come—I know you do!" she said, but she said it wistfully. "Everybody hates to come to see me. But I don't mind having you come as much as I do them. Oh, yes; you can come again if you will," and she gave Ruth her hand at parting.