It was rather a vague letter, but might have had its effect if the doctor had been at home when it arrived. He had gone to a convention, however, and, as he expected to return in a couple of days, he had ordered his mail to be held at home for him.
Ruth waited one, two, three days; then she took alarm. Suppose the letter had been lost. She knew such things did sometimes occur.
"I am glad I didn't send the receipt," she said to herself.
The child was growing very lonely. Her longing for love and companionship was waxing greater and greater.
There was no sign of Mr. Mayfield's immediate return. He had sent a brief note to Martin saying that he was still detained by business. Mademoiselle was lingering, making the most of her holiday and the days seemed very long to Ruth. She went to drive in state sometimes, or Katie took her for a walk, but it was cold weather to be sitting in squares where she fain would have tarried in the summertime.
And so the longing to see Aunt Hester and Billy, Lucia and Annie, Dr. Peaslee and all her well tried friends grew stronger each day. And at the end of the week, she had made her plans and had revealed them to Martin who, solemn and stiff enough in his office as butler, had nevertheless, a warm heart and did his best to cheer the loneliness of the little girl.
"How much does it cost to go to Springdale?" she asked him one afternoon.
"I don't exactly know, miss," was the reply. "But I can easy find out. I'll look it up this evening. I've got to go out before supper."
And so, when he brought up Ruth's supper to the nursery, Martin told her that a ticket would cost "a matter of four dollars."
Ruth counted out her store. "I have that much," she said, "and a little over. Oh, Martin, couldn't you put me on the train for Springdale?"