"Oh yes," she said hurriedly; "do you think people would be afraid of the measles now?"
"No, I don't suppose they would. But, Ruth, I don't want you to work for Price's any more. I want you and Ollie to stay here with me."
"Always?" exclaimed Ollie, turning over on his back suddenly, and gazing up at the speaker. "Oh, Mr. Trulock! Never go back to Mrs. Cricklade again! That would be so lovely!"
Ollie did not know, even yet, that Mrs. Cricklade was dead. He had not been told at the time because he was still weak, and Ruth had shrunk from the subject afterwards.
"Mr. Trulock," said Ruth, "you are good—too good. You would only have to pinch yourself for us: it could not be. Ollie, don't say any more, dear."
"Listen to me, Ruth," said Ralph earnestly. "You think I am very poor, and I don't wonder at that, because I have given you good reason to think so. But I am not really poor. I have as much to live on as any one else in the Rest: as much as Mrs. Short, or Mrs. Archer, and you know she has six children."
Ollie gave a quick look round the room, mentally contrasting it with Miss Jones's and Mrs. Short's parlour; but Ruth shook her head and answered,—
"You told me once, you know, that there was a claim upon your money. I remember it, because it was what father used to say when people told him he ought to send me to a better school."
"Yes, I told you so, and I thought so at the time. But I was wrong, Ruth. I was too proud to accept a kindness, but I have made up my mind to accept it, and to spend my money in making us all happy and comfortable. You shall keep house for me, my dear, and I can teach you in the evenings,—I'm a fair scholar in a plain way. And Ollie shall go to a good school, and get a good education."
"Oh! Oh, Mr. Trulock! if I were only sure that you would not be making yourself poor for us."