Ruth gave him another kiss for answer, and, seating herself on the bed, looked down upon him with a glow in her great velvety eyes that brought a smile to his lips.
"Anyway, the walk has brightened this face up wonderfully. Why, here is color once again, and the dimples are coming back like bees around a rose. Yes! yes! Kiss me, lass! It does me good—it does me good!"
Ruth began to smooth the iron-gray hair on that rugged head, while the old man looked fondly upon her glowing face.
"Never mind. We shall be happy enough yet, little one," he said, smoothing her shapely hand with his broad palm. "Everything is sure to come out right, now that we understand one another."
Ruth drooped her head as the old man said this, and the bloom faded a little from her cheeks.
"Yes; oh, yes, father!" she faltered, drawing her hand away from his.
A look of the old trouble came into the deep, gray eyes, dwelling so fondly upon the girl; but before another word could be spoken, Ruth had left the bed, and lifting a vase full of withered flowers from the mantelpiece, flung them through the open window.
"See what a careless girl I have been, never to think how you love the roses, and they in full blossom, all this time. I never forgot you so long before. Now did I, father?"
"I never thought of them," answered the old man, shaking his head on the pillow. "My mind was too full of other things."
"But we must think of them now, or the house won't seem like home when you are strong enough to sit up," answered Ruth, with a reckless sort of cheerfulness. "Everything must be bright and blooming then. I will go now, and come back with the roses. They will seem like old friends; won't they, father dear?"