Ruth bit her lip, then she made answer: "It is written in my mother's Bible."
"Of course," said Miss Fannie. "Right here, dear. You have a nice quotation, too."
Ruth hesitated, dipped her pen in the ink and then wrote quite firmly: Ruth Henrietta Brackenbury.
"Oh, oh," cried Nora, looking over her shoulder, "see what she has written. Her name isn't Brackenbury at all, Miss Fannie. People call her that, but her name isn't that at all."
"It is, it is," cried Ruth, her eyes flashing, "and the Henrietta is for Aunt Hester's little sister; she said so."
Miss Fannie, who did not know Ruth's history, looked puzzled. "Why do you say it isn't her name, Nora?" she asked.
"Why because it isn't. Everybody knows Miss Brackenbury took her from charity; she took her out of the streets. My mother was at the meeting when the letter came about her and Billy Beatty, and she said she didn't see how Miss Brackenbury could be willing to take in any one she didn't know anything about. She wouldn't let me play with her at first, and I don't think she ought to be allowed to call herself something she is not."
But before the speech was ended, Ruth had rushed up-stairs, with hurried, trembling fingers had put on her hat and coat and, without stopping for a word with any one, had flown out of the house and up the street, the tears running down her cheeks and her heart beating with a fierce resentment.
Miss Hester was not at home when she arrived at the door, and she was obliged to go around the back way, take the key from its hiding-place under the door-mat, and let herself in.
An hour later Miss Hester found her alone in the dark, lying prone on the floor, sobbing broken-heartedly.