"Oh! It is the gentleman who sent me the money," cried Ruth, springing up, and running to Ralph's side with glowing cheeks and brilliant eyes.
"I never saw you again, sir, to thank you. It was very kind of you; I felt so rich!"
"Not rich enough," said Ralph, with a grave smile, "to buy a knife with two blades."
"No," she answered, smiling; "and this is poor Ollie's birthday. He is seven years old to-day, and he begged me to come out here instead of going to church. I don't think," she added, in a low tone, "that Ollie cares much about going to church yet. So we put our dinner in a basket, and we found watercress; and it has been so pleasant."
"I came this way to look for you," said Ralph. "I went to your lodgings, and saw Mrs. Cricklade," he added, looking at Ruth.
"Yes," she said, answering the look frankly. "Oh, but it is a pity! She is always so on Sunday. And yet she is such a kind woman, sir."
"I want to talk to you," Ralph said, slowly. He was pondering a grave question. The children's dinner had consisted, he perceived, of bread and watercress. Now he had at home a certain meat-pie, which was his usual Sunday dinner, because he could buy it on Saturday, ready baked, and just warm it up in his little oven on Sunday. Generally, he left enough for his Monday's dinner too, and he never had meat on any other day. Still, he felt inclined to bring the children home, and to give them a good dinner and a cup of tea.
"I will!" thought he. "The poor little creatures." Then he said aloud, "Will you come home with me, both of you? Come and dine with me."
"Thank you, sir, but we have had our dinner," said Ruth.
"Ruthie, I could eat another dinner quite well," said Ollie from his perch on the tree.