"No," said John, with emphasis; "I'd rather sweep a crossing. I suppose you've filled my place."
The foreman nodded, and jerked his thumb in the direction of a young man who was leisurely serving a customer.
"Do you really want work, man, or is it only 'come and go' again?" asked he, seeing that John looked disappointed.
"Mr. Smith, I'd give anything for a chance to work. I'm sick of knocking about."
"Well, look here! he ain't up to much good," and the shopman was again indicated; "got no 'go' in him, and you always suited me. You may come and show him how to do business in my line, but you'll have to start with lower wages, eh?"
John thankfully accepted the offer. "Now for Ruth and a home of my own!" he said the next morning, when beginning his work.
It was scarcely a wise decision he had made, not to write to her until he was ready to send for her; but a certain feeling of pride held him back, for he said: "She doubted me once, and now I'll wait till I can prove myself worthy of her trust."
Meanwhile, in heart-sickening suspense, Ruth waited mail after mail for an answer to her letter. At last there came one for her, bearing the Australian postmark. She tore it open in fear, for the handwriting was strange. It ran as follows:
"Dear Miss,
"I am sorry to send you bad news, but you must take it kindly from one who wishes you well. The truth is, that Jack is going to the bad as fast as he can, which I'm sorry to say of my own brother. I was downright ashamed of the way he went on, after reading a letter you sent him. He got real mad over it, and swore he'd have nothing to do with a canting Methodist, and a deal more which I won't write, not wishing to put you about. Last of all, he tore the letter up. I write these few lines to save you from expecting to hear any more of him, as he's off on his own hook, and I wash my hands of the scamp.