As the train moved out of the station, there came over the child an overpowering desire to jump out and run back to Aunt Hester who loved her, to Billy and Stray, to the little brown house which she might never see again. The big tear drops rolled down her cheeks. She wiped them furtively away as she kept her head turned as if looking out the window. Her handkerchief became a damp little ball in her hand and the telegraph poles, as they flashed by, were seen through a watery mist. Her uncle wisely said nothing to her for a time, but absorbed himself in his newspaper, but, when the train boy came along, he bought some fine fruit and a box of chocolates saying cheerfully, "Here, little girl, don't you want to see what is in the box?"
Her thoughts diverted in such an agreeable way, the worst was over for Ruth and she turned to the sweets for solace. After a while her uncle began to talk to her, to tell her of his home, of his little boy, Bertie, and from this he went back to his own childhood when he and Ruth's father were playmates together. So the morning was not very long, though Ruth was glad when she climbed down from the cars to take luncheon at a station where they tarried for half an hour.
It was late in the afternoon when they arrived in front of her uncle's door. Ruth observed what to her was a very fine house, and, when she entered the hall, she was quite overcome, for, to her inexperienced eye, it appeared a mansion magnificent beyond her highest expectations.
They had hardly entered before a piping voice called out: "There's papa," and swiftly sliding down the baluster came the figure of a little boy. He came with such speed that he nearly fell off when he reached the big newel post, but his father caught him.
"You rascal," he cried, "what did I tell you about doing that?"
"It's so much the quickest way to get here, papa," said Bertie. "What did you bring me?"
"I brought a little new cousin."
Bertie turned and regarded Ruth with anything but an amiable expression. "I don't want her," he said. "I want something nice. Didn't you bring me any candy?"
Mr. Mayfield looked rather abashed. "To tell you the truth, son, I didn't," he began.
But Bertie interrupted him with a loud wail. "Mamma, mamma," he cried, "he didn't bring me any candy and you said he would." Then throwing himself down on the floor, he kicked and screamed violently.