"I mean that there are 'promises' for you, auntie, just as much as there are for us."
"'Promises?'" she asked, stroking his hair, and thinking that, for a boy of fifteen, he had been a wonderful comfort to her all this year.
"Yes," he answered, not guessing her thoughts; "there's one that I've had on my mind all the week, 'Casting all your care upon Him, for He careth for you!'"
"Yes—" she answered, with a long-drawn breath, as if some heavy care were rolling off as she spoke, "yes—I must not forget that."
"And you'll come and settle down with us till some other home wants you more than we do?" asked Tom, with a gravity and sweetness which she wondered at.
Aunt Ruth was silent, still stroking his sunny hair.
"You seem to think there are a great many homes likely to want me!" she said, hesitating, with a questioning, shy look in her eyes.
"I did not say a great many," said Tom, gravely. "I know of one that isn't ready yet—and in America—and till then we want you!"
Aunt Ruth pointed to the sunset, and rose to go in; but as Tom struggled to his feet, she said softly: "Tom, I don't think there is any home in America getting ready—"
"But I know there is," said Tom, bluntly; "meanwhile, and always, 'He careth for you,' auntie!"