“Why, why, dear child! what have I done, that you should smother me with kisses, and hold on to me as if—as if you were my own child, as I wish from the bottom of my heart you were?”
“Oh, madam, you are so good. You have made me the happiest creature that ever lived,” cried Ruth.
“There, there, don’t set me off again,” said Mrs. Carter, patting both those trembling little hands with her own. “Does a little money make you so happy? Well, just at first, I remember, it does. But then one gets used to it. By-and-by you won’t care. Come, now, put up your money, and the next picture will be worth more. Ross is going to show you how to touch ’em up; and he can do it, if any one can, for he belongs to some great pictur academy across the seas, and is A. number one at painting.”
In a soft, motherly fashion, Mrs. Carter laid the young girl back upon her couch, and began smoothing her beautiful hair. In the fullness of her content, she answered back with broad sympathy the smiles that came around those parted lips, and the look of ineffable happiness that filled those dove-like eyes, with something more beautiful than sunshine.
“It is true! it is real! and I am good for something!” murmured Ruth, holding the money up that she might feast her eyes upon it. “Oh, madam! God sent you here! I was weak and helpless; while others worked, I could only pray. See how the blessed Lord has answered me! I know it is not my poor little pictures, but your goodness that has done this—my prayers and your goodness!”
“You are just a lovely little darling, anyhow; but here is some one coming. There, now, we are ready.”
Mrs. Carter gathered up the floating notes, crushed them into a ball, and hid them under the pillow of the couch. Then she wiped Ruth’s eyes with her cobweb handkerchief, passed it over her own wet lashes, and called out, “Come in!” as a vigorous knock sounded from the front door.
CHAPTER XVIII.
OLD FRIENDS.
The door of the little parlor opened, and Mrs. Smith stood in the passage. From her place behind the counter she had seen the splendor of that carriage before Mrs. Laurence’s gate, and could stand the cravings of her curiosity no longer. She had held herself as a sort of proprietor of the Laurence family after that famous supper, and felt that any visitor who stopped at that little gate was a guest for herself. At first she rather hesitated to put in her claim; but when a half hour, then an hour went by, and that glittering mass of black and gold still kept its place, the position became tantalizing.
Leaving Boyce behind the counter, the good woman tied on her best bonnet, flung a shawl over her broad shoulders, and made her way down the street, burning with curiosity, and just a little jealous that so much distinction had come to her friend, in which she had no part. Standing there in the entry-way, she hesitated, overpowered by a first glance of the richly-dressed lady who seemed to fill up the little parlor with the splendor of her presence.