Ruth looked earnestly up at her father’s face, but said nothing.
“Worries herself?” repeated Mr Lorimer, with a puzzled frown. “What can she have to worry about? Is there anything you want, my dear?” he said, taking hold of Ruth’s little hot hand and bending over her.
The moment had come. Ruth gathered all her courage, sat upright, and fixing an entreating gaze upon him said:
“I want to see my best friend.”
“Your best friend, eh?” he answered, smiling as if it were a very slight affair. “One of your little cousins, I suppose? Well, you’re going to Summerford, you know, and then you’ll see them all. I forget their names. Tommie, Mary, Carry, which is it?”
Ruth gave a hopeless little sigh. She was so tired of these cousins.
“It’s none of them,” she said shaking her head. “I don’t want any of them.”
“Who is it, then?”
“It’s the kitchen cat.”
Mr Lorimer started back with surprise at the unexpected words.