"No one but Mrs. Short! Oh, Mr. Hingston, did you hear him say that?"
"No; I tell you, he won't see me. He is a very old fellow, you know."
Ruth was young, and out-spoken, as young people are apt to be.
"I don't believe he did say it," said she, "and I will see him;" and she marched on towards his house.
Mrs. Short, who was on the watch, darted out upon her. Now I must explain that Mrs. Short, for reasons which will soon become evident, was rather weary of her self-imposed task, and therefore not sorry to see Ruth, though for appearance sake she pounced upon her, screaming—
"Stop, Ruth Golong!" For thus, and in no other fashion, did she pronounce the name, declaring that she had it from Olivia before he learned to say it in English. "You can't go to see Mr. Trulock; he's ill in bed."
"I must see him, ma'am," said Ruth, firmly.
"Well, if he's angry, don't blame me, that's all. You'll find he has a fancy in his head about you; I don't know where he got it from. I never mentioned your name but once, to ask should I send for you; but you mustn't mind that, sick folk has fancies. My Matthew, that's dead, was full of 'em. Well, go if you will go. He's the miserablest old; there's not a peck of coal nor a grain of tea nor anything whatever left in the house, and he won't give me a penny to get things for him."
Ruth went on without replying; she opened the door and went in, turning the key in the lock to keep Mrs. Short out. Her light step on the stairs was heard by the poor old man, and it was with a look of hopeful expectation that his stern old face was turned towards the door.
"What, Ruth!" he said: "you have come at last."