The quiet house was the result of all this, and Ruth was actually less lonely than when the coming and going of visitors, whom she never saw, the bustle of entertainments in which she had no part, and the noisy clamor of Bertie stirred the household.
"I think I'll take you down in the nursery now," she said to Hetty. "It's nice and warm there where the sunshine comes in the windows. I'll begin your new frock. Think of it, I have hardly looked at my box of pieces since I came. They will remind me of home so much. I shouldn't mind pulling out the stitches from old coats or doing anything, if I could only sit by Aunt Hester and hear Billy whistling in the wood-shed. There's that striped pocket; I'll use that."
Ruth unrolled the pocket. Something hard was in the bottom of it. She drew it out. She had forgotten the little wad of paper she had put there so long before. She pulled out the crumpled mass and began to smooth out the wrinkles. Something was written on the paper. She tried to read it, but the writing was too cramped and illegible for her childish powers. She could, however, make out the signature which was in quite different handwriting. The letters, big and black, were easily read.
"S-i-m-o-n—P-e-t-t-y," she spelled out. "I wonder what this is," she exclaimed. "I remember now I found it in the lining of the old coat. I think I will ask Martin if he can read it."
She folded the paper and stowed it away in her box of pieces, then, with Hetty carefully poised on her hand and the box under her arm, she went down to the nursery where she devoted the rest of the afternoon to the making of a striped pink frock for her doll.
At five o'clock it was quite dark. The lights in the hall were lighted and Katie came to turn them on in the nursery. Later, Martin appeared with Ruth's supper on a tray. At the sight of the lonely little figure, his dignity unbent.
"Lonely here, miss, by yourself?" he said.
"Oh, I am not so lonesome as if I didn't have Hetty, but I would like another little girl to play with. I wish you were a little girl, Martin."
Martin chuckled as he set down the tray.
"I can't say I quite echo your wish, miss. Cook made you a little cake just for yourself and she said I was to tell you the cream toast was special good. Is there anything else you would care for, miss? Oysters or a bit of cold ham?"